


Far From The Tree

by AlwaysAqua



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Based Off Of Kelly Clarkson's Song Piece by Piece, Best Friends, Famous Louis, Fashion Designer Louis, For all of this, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I Feel Like I Should Be Better At Tagging Things, Jay’s Death Does Have A Significant Role In This, Louis' Dad Is NOT A Good Guy, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Minor Character Death, No Smut, Non-Famous Harry, POV Alternating, Popularry Culture Fic Fest, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, There Is A Lot Of Emotional Abuse, my apologies, some homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysAqua/pseuds/AlwaysAqua
Summary: “I love you, you know that, right?” Louis asked with a shaky voice and a delicate hand placed across his chest. He had seen Louis place a hand on his chest hundreds of times as a way to remind himself to breathe evenly.“I know.” Harry tried to keep the sadness from his smile. He couldn’t recall how many times in their lives they’d had this exact conversation, but somewhere between the five-hundredth time and now, its meaning had changed for Harry entirely. Still, now was not the time to go into all of that. In fact the time never seemed right, so once again Harry swallowed down the ever-present dull ache his heart felt for Louis. “Love you, too, Louis.”“You’re my best friend,” Louis smiled softly.“And you’re mine.”“For forever?” Louis asked, voice small.“For always.”__________Or, Harry and Louis have been best friends since diapers (twenty-some years ago) and somewhere in the middle of Harry always picking up the mess that Louis' father has habitually left in his wake, Harry accidentally fell in love.





	Far From The Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned - This is not a light story. It's rough. It hurt to write and I hope it hurts (in the right way) to read. There is a lot of subject material that might make you uncomfortable - please see the tags. This story deals with the aftermath of a parent leaving a child behind...a child they never learn to love despite that child's best efforts. This fic meant so much for me to write and I hope it means something to whoever read it.
> 
> I have a lot of people that I want to publicly thank and acknowledge for their help, encouragement, counseling, and general friendship while I wrote this.
> 
> First, to [@suddenclarityharry](http://suddenclarityharry.tumblr.com/) / [FallingLikeThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingLikeThis/pseuds/FallingLikeThis/) for being our wonderful mod and fearless leader for our [PopuLarry Culture Fic Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PopularryCulture/). I consider myself so lucky to call you friend. You are so generous with your spirit and time. I would not have finished this fic without your encouragement and support and all the writing parties from 20 minutes to entire days - you pushed me through it all to be better and I can never thank you enough. 
> 
> To the rest of my Here Cuties, Have Nacho group...Thank you for letting me scream about this fic for months and for giving me generous feedback when I was filled with doubt. You ladies are more than a writer’s group to me and I would not have published anything without you all encouraging me to do so. 
> 
> And finally, to my dear sweet [@hazzabeeforlou](https://hazzabeeforlou.tumblr.com//) / [Throwthemflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers).This fic would not be what it is without you. I hope you know how eternally grateful I am to have had your support and guidance and help with all of it. I have said it before and I’ll say it again, I am truly honored I get to be your friend. Thanks for listening as I talked for hours about it all and understanding before I said anything, that this story what I needed to write in order to heal. Thank you!!  
> ________
> 
> This is part of the Popularry Culture Fic Fest with the prompt:
> 
> 48\. Piece by Piece - Kelly Clarkson ; An AU where Louis’ father abandons him during his childhood. The story of how Harry loves Louis and how that is enough to pick up the broken pieces of his past, piece by piece. When he looks at Harry, Louis realizes that a man could be great and that a father could stay. Totally inspired by her song and the lyrics. Writer has freedom to change whatever they like :)
> 
> I was so excited to get this prompt and write this story based on a song that has meant so much to me for so long. 
> 
> This is for anyone who has survived hurt caused by someone who was supposed to love them. 
> 
> Enjoy.

###  **< >+<> April, 2019** **< >+<>**

“Are you sure you want to do this, Lou?”

“Not really, no.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“I know, H. But I...I think I need to, once and for all.”

“He doesn’t deserve it.”

Louis sat, silence surrounding them both. He was chewing the side of this thumb, skin raw from the newly developed yet already constant nervous habit. Harry couldn’t help but want to reach out and still him, to grab his hand and never let go. There would maybe be time and definitely a need for that later, but for now as always, Harry swallowed down his own wants and chose instead to act on Louis’ behalf, putting Louis’ needs before his own. Before Louis could stop him or either of them could second guess and regret the ramifications of what was to come, Harry clicked the  _ submit _ button on the airline purchase page. Forwarding on the ticket information, Harry couldn’t help but feel he was handing Louis a live grenade.

One first class ticket from Los Angeles to Manchester. 

It wasn’t like it had even been that long since they were back home in England. Louis’ work, and therefore Harry’s work, kept them traveling to London quite often. Additionally, their families all still lived up North, so at least a handful of times a year Harry and Louis made the trek back just to spend time with Louis’ grandparents and siblings and Harry’s mum; sometimes Harry’s sister Gemma would join them if she wasn’t traveling the world on assignment, though that last one was much more rare. It’s not like they avoided England. 

But Manchester specifically? That indeed was something Louis had specifically avoided in his adult life. 

“Well,” Harry said when Louis’ phone pinged, receiving the flight information. “No turning back now. Your flight leaves in a few hours. I’ll start packing your things and collecting your passport and such, if you want to take a shower or something?”

“Yeah,” Louis couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “I’ll, uh, I’ll shower. Hey,” Louis paused. 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you drive me to the airport?”

“‘Course, Lou.”

Harry could tell that Louis had wanted to ask him a quite different question. Being someone’s best friend and essential right hand man for over twenty-five years came with exclusive insider access; for better or worse, he could read Louis, often times too well. Harry waited patiently for Louis to ask what he really needed to ask, knowing that if he pushed the issue, Louis would clam up and shut down faster than Harry could blink. 

Especially about this. 

Louis finally stopped chewing on his poor thumb nail, now nearly a stub, but only long enough to take a deep inhale before asking, “What if he doesn’t want to li-”

“Then you make him,” Harry cut Louis off. He knew Louis had, over the years, developed a terrible pattern of doubting a decision the second after making it, especially when he didn’t know the situation’s outcome. Harry hated that Louis’s line of work relied so heavily on outside approval that it made Louis second guess so much of himself and the choices he made. It really wasn’t like he needed to worry. He was fashion’s newest darling, never once receiving a negative review on anything he designed. 

But this wasn’t like that. 

This was a different beast all together. How could Louis ever please someone who, from the very beginning, had never really loved him? Someone who was by his very nature, a very unpleasable person? He couldn’t. It was a fool’s errand and Harry hated that despite knowing the outcome every single time, Louis would never stop trying. Louis had spent his whole life attempting to make restitution for his unwanted existence, no matter how much resistance it was met with.

“But-“ Louis started again. 

“Make him hear you,” Harry cut him off. “You go, say what you need to say. Once and for all, just like you said.”

“But what if -”

“Louis, your father is dying and actually requested to see you. It’s most likely your last chance to see him, to say what you need to say to him. Make him listen for your sake, not his.”

“He doesn’t deserve it. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t deserve to live with regret on the tip of your tongue for not telling him.”

“Telling him what, though, exactly?”

“Everything? Everything you’ve never been able to say your whole life. It’s never, or now. You deserve closure as much as he does. Go on. I’ll pack. You shower. You’ve got a flight to catch.”

Harry turned away before Louis could see the tears welling up in his eyes. He had spent his whole life trying to protect, care for, and be there for Louis, compensating for Louis’s father’s wrongdoings. But Harry knew even he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t make it better, and his help felt instead like betrayal, like he’d just chucked Louis to the wolves. After all was said and done, Harry could only be a moral support and try to help Louis heal in whatever way possible. Harry knew Louis seeing his father one last time would break him, but Harry was already preparing himself to be at the ready to pick up the pieces. 

Louis cleared his throat. Harry paused and waited, knowing what was coming next.

“Hey Harry?” Louis said yet again, this time barely above a whisper.

Harry exhaled his held breath. “Yeah, Lou?” He blinked back tears before actually turning around to face the man whose face felt more like home than any place ever had.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Louis asked with a shaky voice and a delicate hand placed across his chest. He had seen Louis place a hand on his chest hundreds of times as a way to remind himself to breathe evenly. Guilt washed over him that he didn’t buy two tickets so Louis wouldn’t have to go alone.

“I know.” Harry tried to keep the sadness from his smile, but his tone betrayed ample concern. He couldn’t recall how many times in their lives they’d had this exact conversation, but somewhere between the five-hundredth time and now, its meaning had changed for Harry entirely. Still, now was not the time to go into all of that. In fact the time never seemed right, so once again Harry swallowed down the ever-present dull ache his heart felt for Louis. “Love you, too, Louis.” 

“You’re my best friend,” Louis smiled softly. Harry couldn’t help but see a small, trembling six-year-old Louis asking him the same thing twenty-three years ago instead of the nearly thirty-year-old man that now stood before him.

“And you’re mine.”

“For forever?” Louis asked, voice small.

“For always.”

 

###  **< >+<> March, 1997** **< >+<>**

“Go away, Harry!”

“I can’t. My mummy already left. Didn’t your mummy tell you? We’re having a sleepover.”

“I don’t want to play today,” six-year-old Louis sighed, exasperated. It had been a terribly long Easter Holiday break away from kindergarten and the last thing he wanted to do was entertain the little kid from across the road. They had practically grown up together. Louis doesn’t think he could even remember a time before Harry. But Louis was in kindergarten now and suddenly that meant something. Suddenly, with the events of the previous day of Louis’ life, he felt like Harry was, for lack of any better understanding, beneath him now. He was still basically just a baby and Louis was a big boy. He had to be now. His mummy told him so. 

“That’s okay,” Harry sat down criss-cross-applesauce in the middle of Louis’ bedroom floor, oblivious to the internal goings on of the now very grown up Louis laying across the bed. “We don’t have to play right now if you don’t want to. Your mummy said we can have pizza and she is going to make us treats and we get to watch Brave Little Toaster again.”

“I don’t want to watch Brave Little Toaster. That’s for babies!”

“I’m not a baby! I’m four. ‘Sides. We watched Brave Little Toaster the nighttime before yesterday and you liked it then. I wasn’t a baby then and I’m not one now.”

“You might not actually be a baby but you sure are acting like one.” 

Harry looked down at the floor and whispered, “I’m sorry Louis. We don’t have to watch Brave Little Toaster. We can watch whatever you want. Ninja Turtles or Power Rangers. Whatever will make you happy.”

Louis sat up on his bed and looked down at the small boy sitting on his floor. He knew what he said to his friend was wrong, but, he felt if there was ever a day he got to get upset, it would be the day after his whole life fell apart.

“No. I’m sorry It’s fine. We’ll watch Brave Little Toaster.”

“Our mummies were talking downstairs. I heard them. Your mummy said your daddy left. Where did he go? Is he going to come back?”

Louis felt his face engulf in flames of shame and embarrassment. He wanted to reach for his favorite stuffed bunny laying in the corner of his bed but was afraid that if he did, Harry would think he was being a baby too, needing a stuffed toy for comfort. Instead, he stayed still and squeezed his eyes closed as tight as he could to stop any tears from coming out. 

“I don’t know, Harry. I don’t know where he’s gone. I spilt my milk at dinner and then even before breakfast he was gone. My daddy’s gone and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Louis,” Harry tried to console him. “Your mummy told my mummy that neither of your parents were very happy. Maybe it’s because they don’t eat enough treats. Treats always make me happy.”

Unfortunately, Louis had stopped listening and just kept replaying the scene from the morning before, crying, begging, pleading with his dad not to go. He tried grabbing for his father’s suitcase, griping it with all his might, hoping, praying, that if he held tight enough, his father wouldn’t leave.    
  
“Let go, son,” Louis’ father, Troy, had huffed angrily through gritted teeth. 

“No, dad, please. Don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I didn’t mean to spill the milk. I swear it was an accident. I didn’t mean it. I’ll be better!” Louis had just kept sobbing and repeating “ _ I’ll be better, I’m sorry!” _ as a chant.    
  
It was true, Louis hadn’t meant to spill his milk all over the table at dinner the night before his whole world when upside-down. It was an honest mistake that led to a lap full of milk for his father and raised voices all night long between his mum and dad. Louis wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, listening to muffled yelling, but he knew when he woke up and the house was deadly silent, something was wrong. The air hung thick and the pressure felt palpable, only he didn’t know how to fully describe that eerily uncomfortable feeling caught somewhere between a nightmare and the struggle to wake up. He had flown down the stairs only to find his mum weeping silently, clutching a mug of tea, staring out the front window overlooking the driveway. His eyes followed to where hers were focused and saw the small pile of bags and boxes being loaded into their family car. Before his mum even realized his presence, Louis ran outside in the rain and wind and cold in nothing but his Power Ranger pajamas to try and stop the inevitable.    
  
“Louis, darling, don’t!” Louis heard his mother call. “We can’t make him stay if he wants to go!”

Louis raced to grab the remaining suitcase sitting on the driveway.

“Son,” Troy said, reaching for the last of his bags out of Louis’ small fists. “Go back inside now.”   
  
“I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I’ll be better. I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m sorry!”    
  
Louis felt a sharp yank and the sudden removal of the bag from his hands, the pull still tense in his body. Before the sudden release could throw Louis to the ground his mother was there, behind him, catching him in his fall.   
  
“Oh, darling,” soothed his mum, Jay, wrapping her arms around him, holding tightly enough to restrain her struggling son. “Let him go, sweetheart.”   
  
“I’m sorry, mummy. I’m sorry.”   
  
“It’s not your fault, Boo. It’s not your fault. Shhh, it’s going to be all right.”   
  
Louis watched his father toss the bag into the passenger side and slide into the driver’s seat. It was then that Louis lost all fight left in him and stilled, only his tears moving in a silent cascade down his face.   
  
Troy pulled the door shut and turned the car on without so much as a goodbye. Louis turned around in his mother’s arms, unable to bear the sight of his dad reversing down the drive and pulling away from them, from him. He couldn’t be sure if it was minutes or days (hours?), Louis clung onto Jay, crying into her neck. As her arms squeezed him tightly she muttered endlessly, “Hush darling, it’s not your fault,” and “We’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

Louis barely stopped sobbing long enough to ask her, “Are you going to leave me, too, mummy? Please don’t leave me.”

Jay squeezed him tighter, bringing him even closer to her. “Oh my my darling boy. No, I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I’ll never leave you. I will take care of you and love you always.” Louis clung to her, fistfuls of her hair and clothes gripped in his tiny hands. “My sweet boy, my big boy. You’re going to be okay. We’ll be all right. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry he did this to you. Mummy loves you. Mummy will never leave you. I’m so sorry.”   
  
The rest of the previous day’s events swam like fog through Louis’ mind. He couldn’t have told Harry any of the details if he’d asked. That’s the worst part about trauma - your brain goes into preservation mode and suddenly everything but the actual trauma goes a bit blurry and grey-covered. Certain aspects get lost, but the big picture remains the same.    
  
Maybe he had walked in the house on his own accord or maybe Jay had carried him. Either way, he ended up back inside out of the wind and cold and rain.    
  
Maybe he took a bath or maybe Jay stripped him down and sat him under warm running water to calm him. Either way, he’d found himself toweled off and dressed in warm, soft, dry clothes.

Maybe he got to have his sugar cereal that was usually limited to Sunday mornings, or maybe his mum made him eat eggs and toast. Either way, he remembered sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the still-full mug his mum had been holding when he first came downstairs.    
  
Maybe he fell asleep on the sofa during mid-morning cartoons or maybe he got tucked back into bed after breakfast. Either way, he woke up wrapped in his favorite blankie with his mum’s arms tightly around him.    
  
Maybe he had to be spoon fed some soup and crackers for dinner or maybe he’d tried to eat it himself. Either way, he was too afraid to drink any of his milk for fear he might accidentally spill it and make his mummy leave him, too.

“Louis. Looouuu. Lou!” 

Harry was now standing right in front of him, snapping Louis out of his thoughts. 

“What do you want, Harry?” He practically barked, still not quite in control of his emotions. 

“Oh. Um. I thought...I don’t know. You just went kind of frozen except for chewing on your thumb.” Louis dropped his hand from his mouth at once. “Anyway,” Harry continued. “Our mummies told me before we should pick what pizza tops we want and tell your mum when we’ve decided.”

“She knows we only ever get the same thing.”

“Half cheese, half pepperoni?” Harry’s smile grew big. 

“Yeah. That. Let’s go tell her.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Louis nodded and stood up. “Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg!” He yelled before taking off at a run. 

The two boys raced down the narrow stairs and hall to where Jay was mixing away, assorted baking ingredients scattered about the kitchen counters. 

“Well hello, boys! You’re just in time to add the chocolate chips!” Jay exclaimed. “How many do you think I should add?” She poured a small handful into the bowl. “What do you think? Is that enough?”

Louis looked first at his mum, then to the bowl, and finally to Harry, who was already looking back at him, waiting for Louis’ opinion first. They both scrunched their noses and wildly shook their heads no. 

“More! More! More! More!” They began to pound their fists on the counter as  _ More! _ became their mantra. Jay poured additional chips in and looked to them for approval. The boys just kept pleading for more, louder and louder each time they said it, and each time Jay added a few more chips in until they were laughing and chanting and yelling at the top of their lungs and all the remaining chocolate chips from the bag had been added to the bowl.

Louis knew his mum was trying to make him feel better by adding so many chocolates and Harry was trying to make him feel better by being so over the top excited about everything that Louis had to laugh. But he was thankful, because for a few moments he felt like himself again, or, as near to his old self as he’d even get. He’d become a new version of himself, a self that would always be a little bit sad, but still able to find a way to go on. 

Later that night, when their bellies were full of pizza and chips and triple chocolate cookies, Louis and Harry were snuggled into bed together with the blankets pulled far up over their heads, flashlight lit but lost somewhere between them, casting weird, long shadows over their bodies. Louis cleared his throat and broke the silence.

“Hey Harry?” Louis whispered into the almost-dark.

“Yeah, Lou?” Harry asked.

“Sorry I called you a baby. I was sad and I…” Louis trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

“It’s okay, Louis. I’d be really sad too if I didn’t know where my daddy went.”

Louis sniffled and tried not to cry about it, again.

“You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine.”

“For forever?” Louis held out his hand in anticipation of their secret handshake.

Harry gave him a double high five, then pounded fists - tops first, bottoms second. They interlocked pinky fingers and then pushed their thumbs together before letting go and giving each other, and the darkness, a salute. 

“For always.” 

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

Harry quietly and dutifully packed Louis’ bag with more options than Louis would ever need. Despite checking Manchester weather on his phone app at least seven times, Harry worried Louis would still be cold. Coming from L.A., words like heat and warm were all relative and, frankly, a bit meaningless. Harry knew Louis hated cold and hated damp more.

Harry harrumphed at the irony. If there were two words to describe Manchester in the spring, cold and damp were them. 

Then again, all of England could be described much the same. This was partially why, when his mum passed and he needed a change of scenery (and an escape from the life he knew in England when he realized a life there without her still there was not much of a life at all), he picked Los Angeles. Cold and damp didn’t really exist in L.A., and in addition to the amenable weather, L.A. existed on the opposite side of the world from Louis’ past. As far as Louis was concerned, Neptune wouldn’t be far enough away from that, so he supposed at least the warmth of L.A. would suffice.

Harry decided to pack a few extra sweaters and threw in a jacket, just in case. Still not convinced these alone would be enough to keep Louis warm and content, Harry padded his bare feet down their dimly lit hall and made his way to his own room. He headed straight to his closet and grabbed for his one of a kind hand-sewn fleece-lined hooded sweatshirt that Louis had a tendency to steal when he was feeling particularly gloomy. 

Harry returned to Louis’ room with the sweatshirt gripped tightly in his hands, eyes cast down, deep in thought about Louis constantly drowning in his stolen clothes. Without looking up he began to tuck the folded hoodie in Louis’ open bag; he nearly jumped out of his skin when Louis cleared his throat. 

“Can I wear that now, actually?” Louis asked. “It’s perfect to fly in.”

Harry looked up to see a half-naked Louis, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and water dripping down his neck and shoulders, his hand outstretched. 

Harry let his eyes linger perhaps a little too long before diverting his gaze back the to sweatshirt in question. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry. I didn’t realize you were out of the shower already,” Harry stammered. It’s not like he hadn’t seen Louis naked or just out of a shower before. Typically Harry would come downstairs for breakfast and find Louis in nothing but a towel, sipping tea, waiting for his toast to crisp. But even then - annoyed that Louis’ bits were too close to where he cooked and ate, Harry had to take a beat and shake out the small, but persistent, flutters that had started to (and still) plague him after all these years. 

There was no denying Louis Tomlinson was a beautiful man, best friend or not.  

“Then can I have it, please?” Louis moved a step closer, still holding out his hand. 

“Of course you can,” Harry said, passing it over. “After all, you did make it.”

“I make lots of stuff, Harold,” Louis said, taking the sweatshirt and placing it on the chair beside his meticulously sorted and organized closet, the colors and genres within markedly categorized and separated. “That’s kind of the whole point of being a designer.”

“Oh, so that’s what we’ve been doing at work?” Harry replied sarcastically, his voice lacking any true bite. “Still maintain you should have just made yourself one too when you made mine.”

“It wasn’t my birthday,” Louis shrugged. “And besides, if I made my own, it wouldn’t be yours.”

“It’s hardly mine and you know it. I think you wear it more than me anyway.”

“What’s yours is mine, remember?”

“In fact,” Harry cocked a hip. “I don’t recall that agreement.”

“It’s unspoken, Harold. Keep up.”

“So that means you won’t mind me driving the Lambo while you’re gone?” Harry smiled as slight discomfort crept across Louis’ face. The Lamborghini remained by far Louis’ dumbest and proudest purchase. He’d bought it when they could barely pay rent on the new storefront in Beverly Hills not even a full month after setting up shop; but Louis’ dad had just phoned and told his son that his enterprise would most likely fail, that no one would buy Louis’ clothes for such exorbitant prices. Harry had watched as Louis defiantly walked out of the shop and returned not even an hour later, pulling the Lambo up to the curb and demanding Harry lock up the store and hop in. 

Since that day Harry had done everything, even begged, to drive the car. Louis hardly ever took it out himself anymore, preferring to let it sit, rightfully owned and paid for in full - with cash, as a giant “fuck you” in the arsenal Louis used against his father. 

“You know where the keys are.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Lou.” Harry busied himself digging through the duffel bag, double checking he packed everything Louis might need. 

“In all sincerity, does it bother you that I take your sweatshirt?” Louis asked with perhaps the faintest tone of guilt Harry had ever heard come from him.

“Not in the slightest. What bothers me is that you don’t acknowledge that it’s basically joint custody at this point but you insist on calling it mine.”

“Fine. May I please have permission to take  _ our _ sweatshirt out of the country for a few days?”

“You may. But if there’s so much as a thread loose when I get it back-”

“Then I’ll sew it up. Or make you a whole new one. Whatever you want. I’ll make it.”

“No need. I have other sweatshirts.” Harry glanced up to see Louis drop his towel and pull up some boxers before reaching for his well-worn track trousers. Ironically, old Adidas with worn stripes down the side that Harry had gotten Louis for his birthday Louis’ first year of college. Harry watched Louis’ muscles pull taught across his shoulders as he hunched over to tug on the trousers. 

“Oh it’s like that then? Kicking me out to pasture already?” Louis stood up and looked over his shoulder at Harry. “I’m sure I could arrange someone else to make you something if you’re so unhappy with my designs.”

“It doesn’t really matter who designs what for me, does it? If I own it, you’re probably going to steal it. Fruit of the Loom has never made me anything special and yet, you always seem to end up with my white shirts while my drawers are mysteriously empty.”

“A magic wardrobe? What is this, Narnia?” Louis laughed and Harry couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiating off of of Louis’ smile. “Anyway, I can’t help that your clothes are comfier that mine.”

“Again, I feel like you’re missing the plot point that you literally design and make them. You can just make yourself a size up.”

“I suppose that’s true. But then when I wear them, they wouldn’t smell like you.”

“Sure they would. We use the same soap and shampoo, same conditioner even. We share a shower, laundry, and anything else with smells.”

“Not cologne.”

“Oh. Well you got me there. Sorry we can’t all wear your fancy designer eau de toilette. I can have my mum get you some of my cheap department store brand for Christmas, though, if you’d like.”

“It’s not the same, H, and you know it.”

Of course Harry knew. He knew that no matter how many bottles of Louis’ fancy cologne he sprayed on his own pillows, stealing Louis’ actual pillows while he was away always just felt...better. Harry has never admitted to stealing Louis’ pillows in his absence, and Louis has never made a hint at knowing, though Harry suspects Louis must know. Still, Harry continues in his thievery because Louis is right: nothing compares to stealing the real thing.

“I do know, Lou. Anyway, we should get going,” Harry steered the conversation away from the dangerous flirtation game they were clearly playing at. It hurt Harry too much to know their words were just bits of banter to Louis, when to him, well… those tossed off phrases formed the backbone of his daydreams. “Want me to make some tea for the road?”

Harry watched a veil of solemnity drape back over Louis, as if he just remembered he was leaving to go see his father for probably the last time before death won out. 

“You have no idea how much I would love that. Thanks, H.”

“Not a problem,” Harry turned to walk away, looking back only for a moment. “Anything for you.” 

 

###  **< >+<> December, 1998 <>+<>**

“You want to come over to my house? My mummy said I could tell you we can go bowling tomorrow for your almost-birthday!” 

Louis watched the hyperactive neighbor kid bounce up and down on the walkway leading up to his house. 

“Can’t, Harry. My dad’s coming. He called a few weeks ago and said he was going to come pick me up today and take me on the train to Manchester for the winter carnival. He said we can go on bumper cars and go to the arcade and I can have as much hot chocolate as I want!”

“You’re dad is coming? You didn’t tell me you were going to see him!” Harry sounded genuinely happy for him despite being turned down on his invitation.

“I don’t have to tell you everything, you know.”

“I know. But I tell you everything. That’s what best friends do.”

Louis just stared at Harry. Not that Harry wasn’t his best friend when he was at home, because he was, but Louis wasn’t unaware of how lame it looked to constantly be trailed by a ickle first year when he was already in year three. His classmates teased Harry endlessly and then Louis for sticking up for him. They usually ended up playing together anyway, after all was said and done, so Louis doesn’t know why he always fights it in the first place. 

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t say anything. I...I didn’t want to jinx it.”

“That’s okay, Lou. I get it,” Harry said, seemingly much more grown up than five years old. 

“Hey, look, Harry. It’s not that I don’t want to go. But, my dad promised me and I haven’t seen him in a while.”

A while was, perhaps, a bit of an understatement. The truth was Louis couldn’t exactly remember when the last time he’d actually seen his dad. April? May? And even then, it was mostly in passing since he’d come back only to pick up the last of his things from the house. Louis talked to him a few more times after that, and his dad was supposed to come pick him up for an end of summer trip before school started back up again. 

Something came up. Work, he thought he remembered his father saying. Louis tried hard to understand, and realistically he did. Emotionally, he was seven and logic sometimes took a back seat to tears and hurt. This time was going to be different. His dad even said. He swore it. He promised. He crossed his heart and everything. Louis even heard the fabric ruffle through the phone when his dad made the X over his shirt, so he knew it had to be true.

“Yeah, Louis, no problem. Have fun with your dad. Maybe we’ll come over on your birthday,” Harry smiled a bit sadly. Louis recognized the rapid blinks as Harry’s way of holding back tears.

“Maybe we could go bowling after Christmas. I’ll talk to my mum and make her talk to your mum. We’ll go. I promise.”

“Okay! I’ll talk to my mum right now and tell her after Christmas. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

“Give baby Lottie a kissy for me!”

“Will do!” Louis called out, Harry already running towards his own house. 

Louis, in turn, made his way up his walk and into his house. “Mum? You home?”

“Kitchen, Boo,” Johannah replied back from down the hall. “I’m making your favorite triple chocolate cookies! Come help add the chocolate!”

Louis’ whole heart fell into his stomach. His mom baked frequently enough, but he knew what triple chocolate meant. 

His dad wasn’t coming to pick him up.

Louis trudged his way into the kitchen, abandoning pieces of himself along the way. First his damp and mushy shoes, followed by his book bag, then the mittens and scarf his nan knitted for him, next his jacket, and finally the threadbare winter cap of his dad’s that he’d begged his mum to let him keep. As he tossed it to the ground, a flash of anger crossed him and he almost went back to pick it up off the rug only to throw it in the garbage. But he realized that even despite the anger, he didn’t have much of his father and would regret binning it almost instantly, so he left it as it was.

“Hello my darling,” Jay smiled warmly at her son. 

Louis’ baby sister, Lottie, sat cooing away in the mechanical swing set up next to where his mum was mixing dough. He went to give her a kiss on the hand and one on the top of her head, for Harry. He loved watching the baby smile at his touch. The whole time his mum was pregnant, he was certain he would hate his sister; she was just another thing to take a parent away from him. But then she was born and all it took was one look with her big brown eyes and he fell in love with her and swore he would protect her so she never had to know what true sadness felt like. Every time she cried, Louis was right there, asking his mum what he could do to help. Louis took to being a big brother the way a fish takes to water. But being a big brother wasn’t the same as being a son and Louis couldn’t help but still feel like a failure at that, especially when his father didn’t want to find time to see him.

“Harry make it home safely?” his mum asked him.

“Yeah. I watched him cross the road.”

“There’s my good boy. How was school? Did you show them all how smart you are?”

“It was fine. We got to play with the parachute today.” Louis said, still watching Lottie instead of looking as his mum.

“Sounds like fun!” She expressed exaggeratedly. 

“Yeah. Lots of fun. Mum? Can I go bowling with the Styles’s after Christmas?”

“Of course, Boo. That sounds lovely. Maybe I’ll talk to Anne and we all can go together.”

“He asked me to go this weekend but I told him dad was coming.”

His mother remained silent and instead turned her attention back to mixing the cookie dough.

“He is coming, right mum?” Louis finally turned around to actually look at her for the first time since coming home. He asked her, needing to hear her tell him even though he already knew.

“Oh, Boo, he wanted to. He really did. But he got called into work over the weekend last minute.”

It wasn’t like Louis was surprised. Disappointed? Yes. Sad? Of course. Embarrassed? Unbelievably so. But surprised? Not so much. That was just the way of it. 

“I can call Anne now and see if the offer still stands?”

“I already told Harry no.”

“You can just tell him plans changed.”

“You don’t get it. I told him Dad was picking me up tonight.”

“Harry won’t mind, Boo.”

“But I’ll mind. I told him no because of Dad. If I tell him yes now,” Louis faded out. He wasn’t entirely sure how he wanted to end the sentence.

“Oh, sweetheart. You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right? You don’t need to feel ashamed, especially not in front of your best friend.”

“He’s not my best friend!”

“Don’t take your anger out on Harry when we both know you’re really just upset with your father.”

Louis knew she was right. But again, logic versus emotions proved difficult for an almost-eight year old to override.

“Tell you what, Boo. I let me call Gramps and Nan and see if they would like a visitor this weekend. I can drive you up there myself. Mark and Lotts can stay home so it’ll just be me and you. That way if you happen to tell people you spent the weekend with family, you won’t be lying in the slightest.”

Louis wordlessly stood up and grabbed his mum around her waist and pressed his face into her side. He knew he might be a bit biased, but his mum was the best mum in the whole world.

“Next time, darling,” his mum comforted him, resting a hand on his head. 

Sure, Louis thought. But still he remembered, she had said the same to him last time and clearly that didn’t work out.

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

The short drive from their home in Marina del Rey to Los Angeles International Airport was quiet. Too quiet. Louis rarely requested a partition between them and the driver, but it was offered and for once, he didn’t fight Harry when he asked for it to be put up. 

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Louis going back there alone was a bad idea. He wanted to tell the driver to stop the car and pull over. He wanted to shove the driver out of the front seat altogether and kidnap Louis and just keep driving until he forgot his dying father, forgot wanting to see him again one last time. Maybe they would Thelma and Louise it for a while. Better yet, Bonnie and Clyde - live life on the lamb for as long as they could.

Mostly though, Harry just wanted to go with him, protect him, do whatever he could to make this less painful for Louis.

But he couldn’t. Harry could do absolutely nothing to make this better for Louis, no matter how much he wanted to.

Troy had cancer. Troy was dying. Troy would die and Louis would lose yet another parent. Harry couldn’t fix it. Again. Not being able to help Louis when Jay passed nearly did them in. It had been years since and still he hadn’t figured out a way to keep someone from dying, much less a parent.

“Shhh,” Louis hushed Harry.

“I’m not even making any noise,” Harry looked over at Louis who had his eyes closed and head back on the seat.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Louis beat him to it.

“Are too,” he said, the ghost of a smile dancing on his mouth. “I can hear all those thoughts whooshing around all the way over here.”

“Sorry. I just…”

Louis opened his eyes and turned to look at Harry. He reached for Harry’s hand and linked Harry’s fingers between his own. Instinctively, Louis started to rub the top of Harry’s hand with his thumb, never breaking eye contact.

“You can’t fix this.”

“I can try,” Harry said quietly, tears stinging his eyes and threatening to fall out. “Please, just let me try.”

“You can’t. But I love you so much for wanting to.”

“Let me come with.”

“I think I need to do this on my own.”

Harry knew that. But that didn’t change the fact that his heart ached as much as Louis’ did. Harry knew this was bigger than death. Bigger than the both of him. 

Troy actually asking to see Louis meant the end really was near. 

“But,” Harry started.

Louis released one of his hands from holding Harry’s to tuck a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. “I know, I know I don’t have to go alone. But we both know I’m not alone. I’ve got you to come back to.”

One stray tear let loose and rolled down his cheek and Harry felt so ashamed of himself for making Louis’ tragedy into his own. He turned away so Louis couldn’t see him cry more.

“Hey,” Louis used his free hand to touch Harry’s chin, trying to turn his head back. “Hey now, none of that.”

“I’m sorry, Lou. I shouldn’t-”

“Nonsense, Harry. Feel what you want. Him dying affects you too. I’m not that daft.”

“It’s not him dying that bothers me,” he said, turning away once more.

“Harry, look at me. Please?”

He could see the lights of LAX quickly approaching and didn’t want to spend his last few minutes with Louis fighting. He turned back, avoiding eyes, looking at their clasped hands instead.

“I’m not mad at him anymore. You shouldn’t be either.”

“Fuck that Louis. I’m never going to forgive him for what he’s done to you.”

“You don’t have to forgive him. But you have to let the anger go. He’s not worth it. And yeah he fucked me up for a long time. But look at me now. I have everything in spite of him. I have an amazing career, a good life, a beautiful home, and I have you,” Louis smiled so softly that if Harry wasn’t already crying, he would have started to in that moment. “I don’t need him anymore. If I’m honest, I haven’t needed him since the night you made me watch The Brave Little Toaster after he left. I had my mum and you and triple chocolate cookies and that was enough.”

The car pulled up to Louis’ terminal and Harry had to force himself to breathe. He made a motion to let go of Louis’ hand but Louis pulled him back. 

“Just wait a moment. I need to...After I lost my mum,” Louis paused as his voice broke for the first time. After a few moments, he cleared his throat and continued on. “After I lost my mum, you were there. You took care the girls and eventually you came here to take care of me. You still take care of me. I know it’s incredibly selfish to think, but no matter what happens with Troy, you’ll be there.”

Harry let out a small sob and squeezed Louis’ hand before Louis finally let go, grabbing his jacket and carry-on bag. He opened the door and got out. Harry watched as Louis heaved his bag from the trunk of the car with the assistance of the driver. He wanted to go help but he remained frozen.

His car door opened, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

“Come give me a cuddle,” Louis said from the curb.

Slowly Harry forced his limbs to move. He sniffled as he came face to face with Louis. In the few minutes (seconds?) since he got out of the car, Louis’ eyes had turned glassy and red-rimmed. Harry could do nothing but reach out and hug him. They stood, still, arms entangled in each other, for several seconds (minutes?) and everything else faded away except the rise and fall of Louis’ chest on Harry’s and Louis’ breathing and Louis’ stifled sniffles in Harry’s ear.

“You will be here for me when I get back. Right?”

“Course Lou. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine. Always.”

They pulled back from each other but neither one could bring themselves to say what usually came next. Instead Louis adjusted the bag on his shoulder, patted Harry’s cheek and walked away clutching the handle of his rolling suitcase.

Harry took several gulps of air while watching the automatic doors close behind his best friend. His eyes followed Louis until the masses swarming the ticket counters swallowed him up. 

“Love you, Lou,” Harry whispered to no one in particular before getting back in the car. “So fucking much.”

 

###  **< >+<> December, 2004 <>+<>**

“You can’t run away.”

“I can. I’m going to. Tomorrow night. I’ve got it all planned. This bag,” Louis gestured to a small but full duffel, “This one’s food. And the other one is some clothes, a few books. Flashlight, I have all of my birthday money saved still and besides, it’s not really running away.”

“You’re going somewhere without telling your mum, or anyone besides me. Sounds like running away to me.”

“I’m going to the bus station. It’s not running away if you have a destination in mind. My dad said the only reason he can’t come get me is because his car broke down. If I hop the bus in a few hours, I’ll be at his place by morning.”

“Do you even really know where his new place is? You’ve never even been to Liverpool since he moved there.”

“Yeah, my mum wrote the street number down and everything because she wanted to know where exactly I would be. I copied it down and checked it again, just to make sure. There’s no difference, except this time I’m going to him. I’m still going to be where I should be.”

“Then why won’t you just tell her?”

“You’re just a kid, H. You wouldn’t understand!” Louis snapped. He half expected Harry to fight back like he usually did. Some retort that he was ten and Louis was only two years older than him and that his own mum and dad had split so he did in fact know what it felt like to have half your parents not be around too much anymore. He almost wanted Harry to try fight him harder about f it wasn’t wrong what Louis was doing, he would just tell his mum. It’s not like Louis didn’t know Harry would have been right had he said any of those things. 

Harry was always right about the logical things.

But this wasn’t logical. It never was when it came to Louis and his father. The prospect of his father missing his thirteenth birthday took all rationality out of Louis. There were certain moments in a son’s life that he should spend with his dad, and Louis wanted so desperately for this to be one of those times.

Harry didn’t tell him that if he just explained it to his mum, she probably would understand, that she might even drive him there herself or have his step dad mark take him.

Maybe he wanted Harry to be less logical and simply put up a fight because in his heart of hearts, Louis knew the broken down car was just an excuse. As were the business trips and bouts of sickness whenever it came time for Louis to visit. Maybe he wanted Harry to yell at him loud enough for Jay to hear so she’d run up to Louis’ room and put a full stop to the whole idea. After all, Louis wasn’t sure he could brave spending a night, alone, at a bus stop.

But Harry didn’t fight him. He sat, quietly, staring at his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“What time does the bus leave?”

“I can catch the 11:20 which, with all the stops and transfers, can get me into Liverpool by quarter six.”

“Well,” Harry stood up and went over to his own backpack resting against the base of Louis’s desk. “Since I won’t see you then, take this with you.” He held out a small but neatly wrapped thin rectangular box.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Harry.”

“Sure I did. It’s your thirteenth birthday. I know I’m just a kid compared to you, but I do know how important it is to turn thirteen.”

“You said it was important to turn twelve last year.”

“It was important. It was the last birthday before your teens. Besides, every one of your birthdays are important. Or, at least I think so,” Harry said rather quickly, trying to gloss over the sentiment. “No opening it until Sunday, though. Promise?”

“Promise,” Louis said, taking the heavier-than-anticipated gift.

“Call me when you get there, if you can. I don’t want to go the whole weekend not knowing if you’ve made it okay or not.”

“I will, H. I swear. Thanks for the pressie and thanks for not saying anything to anyone.”

“Sure, Louis. I wouldn’t...I’m not...I’d never do anything to get you in trouble. You’re my best friend and I love you and I hope you have a good birthday,” Harry gave him a quick hug and rushed out of the room.

Louis sighed and checked the alarm clock next to his bed. Only 7:42. He had over three hours before he needed to leave for the train station. His first instinct was to toss Harry’s gift into his duffel in order to honor the promise he’d made. Then again, Harry would never know if Louis opened it now instead of Sunday.

Gently, he popped the tape off the ends of the box, then off the back. Once the paper came free he saw, scribbled across the box top in black pen,  _ No looking until Sunday! _ He laughed. If Harry knew one thing about Louis, it was how terrible he was at following directions; no way would Louis wait until his actual thirteenth birthday to open his gift. 

He tore the top of the box off and a card fell to the floor at his feet. Louis laughed at how typical it was of Harry to put a card inside the box. He tore into the envelope and found a handmade birthday card with a picture of Louis pulling a silly face cut out and pasted next to a hand-drawn cake with thirteen candles. There was also a cut out picture of Harry with a word bubble coming out of his mouth saying “Yay, Lou!” on the front. Inside, Harry had written a small note.

_ Happy thirteenth, Louis. Now that you’re a teenager, you probably think you’re too cool for me. Tough luck for you, though. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll just have to deal with it. Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying your birthday. I wanted to get you something you can use more than just today. I always see you doodling on the edges of your homework and on scratch paper. Maybe you can use this as a place to draw instead. You’re really good at it. I hope you know that. And if you don’t, I’ll always be there to remind you.  _

_ -H _

_ (P.S. Sorry the letters got a little wonky. I burned myself with the iron so I was working mostly one-handed after the L.)  _

_ (P.S.S. My mum said we can have cake together when you get back.) _

Louis smiled and ripped into the tissue paper bunched up in the box. Under what felt like forty layers was a cloth covered, hardbound art sketchbook with a red green satin ribbon running through it as a bookmark. In the lower right hand corner were three iron on letters in a bold yet delicate script,  **LWT** , with the W a little crooked and the T a bit lower than the other two letters. Louis felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He honestly didn’t think Harry had ever even noticed his doodles. 

The drawings had just started in the past year. His first little graphic shapes had quickly turned into skateboard design sketches which had lately morphed into random attempts at dresses for his mum to sew as Christmas gifts for his sisters. One of the girls’ favorite things to do was yell specific instructions for their dollies dresses and have Louis draw them. Lottie had a particular penchant for bright colors and flowers. Fizzy preferred big bows and ribbons and lots of frills. Louis got to a point where he just traced the same basic dress shape over and over again, just needing to fill in the drawn dress form with their requests. 

He always hid them away when Harry, or anyone outside of his family, came around. Drawing dresses seemed like the sort of thing that would get him teased for being too girly. But still, he loved doing it. And now, it seemed, Harry knew; knew and encouraged, didn’t tease. He didn’t know why that affected him so much. Harry always acted like anything Louis did was amazing, including dumb tricks on his skateboard or making pot noodles for them to snack on after school. 

Without a second thought, he shoved the sketchbook into his duffel and padded down the hall.

“Hey mum?” Louis called out.

“With the twins, darling!” She called out from the nursery.

“Mum?” he asked again, entering the overwhelmingly pink room. “Can I...can you call Anne and ask her if maybe I can spend the night at Harry’s house?”

“You sure, Boo? You said you weren’t feeling too well before and were going to go to bed early tonight.”

“I’m sure. I feel so much better.”

“Wasn’t Harry just here? Did you talk to him about it?”

“He was here. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him about it. And I kind of want it to be a surprise. So tell Anne to not tell Harry if she says it’s okay.”

Jay agreed to go call Anne if Louis agreed to finish feeding Phoebe in her absence. Louis would never tell his mum that he loved feeding the babies out of fear she would make him feed them always. But he loved when they wrapped their hands around his fingers as they ate and smiled when he pretended to nibble their fingers. Big Brother was his favorite thing to be, well second only to Best Friend of Harry.

Jay came back a few minutes later, smiling brightly. “Anne said it was no problem for you to spend the night. She even said you and Harry could bake some treats tonight if that’s what you wanted. You can go over whenever.”

“But she didn’t tell Harry, right?”

“Nope. She said Harry seemed a bit down when he came home and said you staying over would be a perfect pick-me-up surprise for him.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he said, hanging the baby back to his mum. “I’m going to go over now, then if that’s all right with you. Love you!”

He didn’t wait for a response before running down the hall to his room to grab his already packed duffel bag and run out the door and across the street to Harry’s. 

Louis didn’t know what exactly led to his change of heart about wanting to go to Liverpool, but as he had watched Daisy roll over on her play mat to grab her favorite stuffed toy (one a different-colored matching pair that Louis and Harry had pooled their money to get for the twins when they were born) he knew he had made the right decision. 

There were important moments in life and he knew that turning thirteen around people that loved him and actually wanted him around was a far better use of his weekend.

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

“Did you see this?” Louis slid his phone across the marble counter to where Harry stood busily chopping peppers for their breakfast frittata. He knew Louis hadn’t eaten a single thing of substance, or that didn’t come out of a paper delivery or drive through bag, on his trip so he tried to pack as many nutrients into the breakfast as possible. “Can you even believe this shit, H?”

Harry knew what Louis was showing him without looking. Some people thought it creepy that he had a google alert set up for Louis’ name, but Harry felt that, as Louis’ friend and personal assistant, his job demanded it. 

Harry’s phone had pinged a few hours ago when the article first dropped. He’d decided to let it be, his default mode in these sorts of matters. Louis will bring him up to speed on the situation in his own time and any pressing would further prolong hearing the truth.

Still, he glanced long enough to re-read the headline in big, bold, black letters across the gossip site.

**_LWT Dad Discusses the Designer’s Denial of Dying Wish for Reconciliation._ **

“Who even comes up with this shit?” Louis ran his hand through the scruff that had appeared across his face since Harry had last seen him.

“People who think alliteration is necessary?” Harry looked up, meeting Louis’ eyes for the first time since he left. He’d have to be willfully ignorant to not notice the red-rimmed eyes and the tear streaks dried on his cheeks. “We both know it’s people who have never had their personal lives used as tabloid fodder,” Harry went back to chopping. The moment he had first seen the article he was tempted to call TMZ himself and set the record straight. But then he’d realized he didn’t even know where exactly the record stood. 

The previous night, Louis had come home and dropped face-down onto Harry’s bed for a bit, silent and unresponsive even when Harry had begun to rub his back in slow circles. Reaching out and providing Louis with tactile comfort had become second nature to Harry since the first night it happened. 

Jay and Mark had wanted to throw a little dinner party in Louis’ honor for passing his A-levels with flying colors. Jay had told Louis that Troy, once again, promised to be there and then, like usual, he never showed up. Louis came up to Harry and whispered in his ear for Harry to follow up upstairs. Harry would have followed Louis to Neptune had he asked, so without anyone noticing, they slipped away from the party.

Harry hadn’t given much thought to it when Louis first asked. 

“I know this might be weird,” Louis had said nearly a decade ago. “But, when I was little, my mum used to rub circles on my back when I needed calming down. Can you —” he cleared his throat and climbed onto his bed, belly down, head facing away from Harry. “Would you mind rubbing my back a bit? I just...I need to calm down.” 

Harry had tucked himself up next to Louis and that was that. He didn’t mind in the slightest. Not then, not now, not the hundreds of nights in between. It was just who they were and what they did. There was one time when he took pause at their co-dependent ritual but that was because Louis’ fuckwit Uni partner for a design class apparently had no idea that friends could touch each other without it needing to be followed up by “no-homo” and that it was okay.

Louis was stressed about his final show and working late on the finishing touches one night in the design lab when Harry had dropped by with a bag full of snacks for everyone in the studio. Louis’ classmates were super appreciative and had come to accept Harry as their own friend since he came around so often. It didn’t help that Louis practically lived in the lab and where there was a Louis, there was almost always a Harry.

Overwhelmed by work but thankful for the distraction, Harry had finally gotten Louis to agree to a small break after a minimal amount of pleading. They sat in one of the the lounge sofas, Harry rubbing Louis’ back while Louis leaned forward and munched on the snacks. Louis’ design partner on the other half of the year-end collection show was, unfortunately, a very uncomfortable gay man trying to conceal the fact that he was gay. He tried desperately to exude masculinity to the point of it being toxic, consistently toeing the line of offensive when it came to homosexuality. He came in to see Harry and Louis sharing their own kind of intimacy and started to laugh and told them to get a room and then made some snarky comment about how they already had one so why did they need to flaunt their lifestyle in front of everyone when they could hide in their dorm room instead? Harry had been ready to knock the kid out but Louis placed a hand on Harry’s knee and stopped him, shaking his head, mumbling that it wasn’t worth it. Louis’ partner then made another comment about their “disgusting reliance” on each other. 

Harry had called his mum the next morning to ask her opinion on the matter. It had never been made into a conversation between their families. Anne and Jay and the lot of them just accepted that where there was a Louis, there was a Harry, and where there was a Louis and Harry, there was bound to be a closeness rivaled by no other. It didn’t need to be talked about because it always just was.

“Do you think Louis and I are too needy with each other?” Harry had asked in lieu of a greeting.

“You’re best friends. I think best friends are supposed to need each other.”

“Yeah but, do you think best friends are supposed to want to…” Harry trailed off, unsure of what it was exactly that he was asking his mum.

“Want to what, my dear?”

“To touch each other? Are we supposed to...want it? As friends, I mean.”

Harry still remembered his mother’s silence. It was deafening. Harry thought the pause was reminiscent of a coin toss. The moment you flip it into the air, you realize your heart has stock in the answer and one side weighs out more than the other. Then, she’d asked him something that changed the entirety of his being, the entirety of his relationship with Louis and the correlation that there wasn’t much difference in the distinction between the two.

“But you’re not just friends, are you? Never have been, really.”

And in that moment Harry had realized he was ass over tits in love with Louis. 

That was the night before Louis’ whole life changed thanks to his senior design show being a smashing success. He’d been hired on the spot for a small but revered menswear shop in Paris. It hadn’t taken long for Louis to rise up the ranks on the design team, but this meant that he, like his designs, outgrew the shop and the small world of men’s formal wear. A giant leap of faith and a whole lot of luck led to Louis being asked to design a collection for Fashion Week; this got him selected to be featured in British Vogue, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now a regular on the street and resort wear scene, Louis had shown at fashion weeks across the globe. And at every step of the way, Harry was there. He was there steaming wrinkles out of tracksuits until his hand blistered the morning of London’s fashion week runway show. He was there holding the bucket right before Louis sent his first look down the runway in New York, just in case nerves got the better of Louis’ stomach. Harry was there in a skin-tight ladies crop top with pins sticking out every which way that Louis was still working on at nearly half-four in the morning the night before his show in Milan. 

Harry was there.

And more often than not, Louis suggested first that they leave whatever after-party they’d been attending, only to crawl into Harry’s bed as soon as they returned home without any explanatory words, opting for the silence and singular touch Harry provided him, just as Louis had done the night of the dinner party, and the night before when he got back from Manchester.

So, Harry waited. He waited for Louis to fill him in on Troy’s dying wish, the one Louis had supposedly denied. The mere thought of that man asking Louis for anything after the way he abandoned Louis his whole life...it was laughable, but Harry understood why Louis had needed to see him one last time.

“He wanted money,” Louis whispered, reaching for his phone and avoiding eye contact.

“Again?” Harry asked before his brain caught up with his mouth. “I’m sorry, Lou. That was...I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not, though? You’re right. He asked for money again. This time it was a sob story for chemo treatment. Apparently, are you ready for this? Shock of the century, he doesn’t have a job. Hasn’t had one for a while. So no insurance and no means to keep paying hospice bills.”

Harry bit his tongue to remain silent.

“He’s claiming that there is no hope for him so he’s fine with the medical bills, but apparently there is a lot of outstanding debt.”

“I’m not following.”

“He’s playing me on a guilt trip. If I don’t step up and pay him, his chemo treatments end now and he dies faster.”

“Or?”

“Or I pay, he has a few more treatments, and then he dies later.”

“But either way he dies?”

“Yep.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

“Honestly?” Louis asked.

“Have I ever wanted to know anything other than the truth?”

“I think I’m ready for him to die. Not that I would wish death on anyone. But he’s dying. That’s just the fact of the matter. And I’ve made my peace with it. I can’t keep hurting because he’s a shitty person. I’m ready to not hurt anymore.”

Harry hardly knew what to say to that. How does one comfort their...person...when they know just how deep the suffering actually is? One can no more stop the sun from setting than they can stop a lifetime of hurt from plaguing a loved one. This was the kind of hurt nothing could comfort. 

“Besides, being dead would give him a legitimate reason to miss my birthday and Christmas and pretty much every other event that happens. I don’t have to save a seat at my shows, just in case. I don’t have to clear some time around the holidays, just in case. I don’t have to do anything just in case anymore. I won’t have to care anymore.”

“I get that. I do. But, Lou,” Harry started.

“No, H. I mean it this time. It’s...just better. For everyone. No more suffering for him. No more suffering for me.”

Harry eyed Louis suspiciously, remembering just how far Louis spiraled after Jay had passed. Obviously there was not a single comparison between Jay and Troy, but a parent’s death is still something that affects you. Especially one that makes you a full fledged orphan. 

Harry slipped the frittata into the oven and moved slowly but intentionally over to Louis. He wrapped his arms around the smaller frame of the person he loved most in the world, the person who had grown to be a literal part of him. A person who caused Harry to bleed when Louis was the one getting cut.

“It’s not your fault if it hurts, if you hurt. You know that, right Lou? None of this is your fault.”

Louis sighed and Harry felt the weight of Louis melting back into him. Louis rolled his neck back and rested his messy haired head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Then why does it feel like I did something wrong?” Louis said, barely above a whisper. “My whole life, I can’t shake the fucking feeling like it’s always been my fault. When I was a kid I spilled my fucking milk one time and he and my mum fought for hours and in the end he left. When ever he did manage to clear his schedule and show up, he always wanted something. Whatever money mum had sent me with, help with getting a job, pulling a con job on a landlord to take pity on him for being a single father so they would give him a cheaper rate on a flat. It was always something. And since… since LWT was a recognizable brand, all he’s wanted me for is money. And clearly-” Louis pointed to his phone. “It’s not just me for the money. It’s using my name to garner fame and attention and money for himself.” 

“You think he sold it?”

“I know he did. It wasn’t me and it certainly wasn’t you. No one else was even aware I went to visit him, much less that he had a ‘dying wish’ request of me.”

Rage swelled up in Harry. He had half a mind to jump on a plane himself and unplug whatever machines Troy was hooked up to and find the nearest pillow and make sure it happened to fall on Louis’ dad’s face. And then he felt Louis’ weight on him, using him for support, clutching his own hands onto Harry’s wrapped around his torso. Harry took several deep breaths and reevaluated. 

“I’m sorry he did that to you. It’s just… what’s what abusers do, Louis. They use and abuse and take advantage of. They make you believe that every negative thing that has ever happened is somehow your fault while simultaneously taking away every joy from your life.”

“Yeah, well, there are some things he can’t have.”

“Oh?” Harry more hummed than spoke.

“You’re...you bring me joy. And he’ll never fucking touch that. He can’t take you.”

Harry pressed his nose to the exposed scruff of Louis neck. Before he could think twice and talk himself out of it, he brushed his lips ever so slightly against Louis’ pulse point and whispered, “You’re right about that. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

###  **< >+<> June, 2008 <>+<>**

“Can I ask you something, Lou?”

“You can ask me anything, Harry. You should know that by now.”

“No, yeah. I do. But like,” Harry cleared his throat and kept shifting his body around, trying to find a position that might make the conversation a bit less awkward. “Can I ask you something that...that I’ve...that we’ve never really talked about? Something, personal?”

Louis sat up from where his head was resting on the worn footy ball. He and Harry tended to end all of their one-on-one footy matches under the shade of the same giant oak tree just off to the side of the field in the park close to their houses. 

There was something about the way Harry asked the question - quiet and face turned away from Louis, opting instead to look out on the hilly expanse of the park. If Louis were honest with himself, he had an inkling of what this might be about, but with Harry, he could never be entirely sure. With measured breath and forced-calm voice, just in case it  _ was _ what Louis thought it might be, he replied, “Go on, then.”

“Do you...is there...do you think you can be attracted to more than one kind of person at the same time?” Harry was still turned away, clearly avoiding Louis’ gaze like the plague. Usually, Harry stared too intently at Louis while they spoke, trying to read every single facial tic and call Louis out on any giveaway his ever-poor poker face attempted to conceal. But now, with nothing but the back of Harry’s head for Louis to look at, Harry’s body language revealed his true intent. 

He knew what Harry was asking. It was definitely the exact conversation Louis suspected it might be. It was only a matter of time until Harry saw through him and found out his deepest secret.

“More than one type of person as in like...one who is super into being a goodie two shoes and one who breaks the rules at every chance?” Louis asked, still testing the waters.

“Not exactly, no.”

“Then what?” Despite Louis knowing precisely what Harry meant, something in him needed Harry to say it. Because maybe if Harry could say it, Louis wouldn’t have to feel shame about it. Not that he was ashamed. He wasn’t. Mostly. Just, he felt solitary in his feelings. 

Every time he saw two men holding hands, he felt like he needed to avert his eyes. Not because such a display put him off by any means, but more in case anyone saw the near-longing look that would take over his face or the deep sigh of want that he always needed to swallow down. It fucks a kid up to grow up hearing a parent spout nothing but condemnation at the thought of homosexuality. 

Then there was Harry. Harry, who so freely smiled at a lesbian couple they had seen when they went to the newest Harry Potter movie for the fourth time. Harry, whose eyes would linger a little longer than Louis’ own gaze on a particularly attractive man. Harry, who unapologetically hung a poster of David Beckham over his bed when everyone knew Harry never cared that much about footy anyway. 

Louis was jealous of Harry for being so seemingly comfortable with it all. Well, more comfortable than Louis anyway. Louis’ pictures of David Beckham were stored away inside an envelope, tucked in the crease of some old folded up homework, shoved in the back pocket of the notebook he kept in the middle of a pile of books piled just under his bed. They stayed there permanently unless he knew he had the house to himself for a few hours, and even then he exercised caution. 

“You know how in Order of the Phoenix, Harry clearly has feelings for Ginny and Cho at the same time?” Harry finally asked.

Maybe Louis was wrong. Maybe this whole time he had just projected his own desires onto Harry in order to justify his feelings. Maybe Louis had made up every one of Harry’s lingering looks at men just so that he could pretend he wasn’t the only one doing it. Maybe Harry was just conflicted between two girls and this whole thing amounted to Louis just wishing and hoping and wanting to not feel so different. So alone.

“Yeah?” Louis tried to not let his voice shake.

“Well,” Harry continued. “Well he was clearly into them, but also, like…obsessed with Malfoy?”

Then again, maybe Louis wasn’t quite wrong after all. 

“Yeah, definitely obsessed with Malfoy.”

“Do you think any part of why Harry was obsessed with Malfoy was because he might have been…attracted to him?”

Definitely not wrong then.

“I think there is a very real possibility that Harry Potter is a bit in love with Malfoy, yes.”

“And do you think that’s okay?”

Louis played with the bottle of water that had been resting against his thigh. He started to peel at the label. Who the hell was Louis to tell Harry that being attracted to guys was fine or not? Louis, who needed approximately fifteen safety measures just to make sure his magazine cut-out pictures of Becks stayed hidden away? It was now clearly evident that Harry was looking for some sort of validation and Louis felt the weight of irony bearing down on him since he couldn’t even validate his own feelings, much less Harry’s.

“If we’re talking strictly in the world of Harry Potter,” Louis paused, trying to circumnavigate the conversation at hand. “I think it could get really tricky for Harry to be in love with Malfoy. There is too much history there, too much bad blood. Not that he couldn’t redeem himself. Malfoy, I mean.”

“And if we’re not talking strictly in the world of Harry Potter?” Harry asked slowly yet deliberately.

Louis took several moments before responding. Everything flashed through his mind - all the secret wanks to various men, the hidden stacks of torn out magazine pictures, late night Google searches about understanding same-sex attraction, sermons admonishing homosexuality he had to sit through at church time and again when he was younger, listening to his dad go off on rants about gay people on the street or in movies or on the telly. The number of times he had to hear his own father use slurs no one should hear, much less a questioning child, astounded him. 

It was all part of why David Beckham stayed hidden away. 

Louis knew liking boys wasn’t actually bad. But he also knew that if his father ever found out about the half dozen sketchbooks he’d filled with ladies dresses and the like over the years, there would be hell to pay. So much distance already existed between them that Louis never wanted to do anything that put even more space there. Still though, that was just for his own sake. It’s how he justified swallowing down the thoughts that drifted to other boys. Self preservation and whatnot.

“If you’re asking me if it’s wrong to be attracted to other boys,” Louis took a drawn out breath. “My answer is no, Harry. I don’t actually think it’s wrong at all.”

Harry finally turned his head over to look at Louis, his face a bit tight in contemplation. The two boys started at each other, both unmoving, afraid to break whatever very fragile thing that was happening between them.

“I don’t think it’s wrong either,” Harry said after what felt like an eternity, his voice barely above a whisper. Seemed to be the way of things between them. Conversations and the quiet confessions whispered between only each other and the whole of the universe. 

Louis eventually cleared throat and asked, “So you’re attracted to Malfoy, then?” He tried being light hearted about it.

“I mean,” Harry blushed and turned away, apparently still not quite ready to laugh the whole thing off. 

“The dye job isn’t that great. But he does look fit as fuck in a suit, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t try and get a piece of that,” Louis said all at once, afraid if he paused between words he wouldn’t actually get it out.

“It’s not so much the suit for me,” Harry said, slowly standing up. “It’s the whole ‘baddie’ thing."

Louis raised his eyebrows in both surprise and confusion. “Oh?”

Harry leaned down to grab for the ball sitting in Louis’ lap. “What can I say? I kind of have a thing for the bad boys if I’m honest.” With that, Harry winked and turned to run away onto the pitch. 

Louis braced himself before standing. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he had just come out for the very first time, to his best friend who was coming out to him at the same time no less. 

A week ago, he’d sat miserable and a bit afraid in a dirty booth of a dark pub in Liverpool listening to his father rant on and on about a gay couple who had the audacity to exist in public. He listened to Troy complain about how the couple, whose only crimes were being gay and holding hands in public, should keep it behind closed doors. He listened to his dad say that it was gross and unnatural in the eyes of God - but apparently being drunk by noon with your all but estranged son was fine, as was leaving your partner when your baby was barely out of diapers, routinely asking your kid for money because you’d been laid off again, and forcing your kid to sleep on a hardwood floor because you’re technically squatting in someone else’s space because you were evicted after the layoff. All that was normal, but not two men’s hands linked together. 

But now, Harry knew. Harry knew his true feelings and didn’t think it was gross. Harry knew his deepest secret and actually understood the what’s and the why’s of it. Harry knew Louis thought it was okay to be attracted to boys and Louis finally let out a breath he felt like he had been holding his whole life and didn’t have to anymore. It seemed only right that Harry was the first to know. He probably figured it out long before Louis had and was just waiting for the right moment to let him in on his own secret, too.

Harry knew and was still his best friend. Nothing in the world could ever take away the bond they had now. They couldn’t take anything back and for the very first time, Louis realized he didn’t have to hide anymore.

Harry saw him and that was enough.

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

In the two days since it had happened, neither Harry or Louis acknowledged the kiss, not that Harry really thought it even qualified as a kiss. More like a touching of lips to skin. No different than an elbow to the ribs. 

Except it was nothing like that. 

Harry knew anyone in the world would absolutely count it as a kiss of sorts. 

It wasn’t just the blatant ignoring of the not-a-kiss-but-definitely-a-kiss kiss that was weird to Harry. It was everything. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had shifted, but ever since Louis had come back from visiting his father things had changed. 

On more than one occasion, Harry randomly looked up from his work and caught Louis’ focused gaze on him. Louis’ smile, however sad (or in Harry’s opinion, conflicted) seemed to linger just on the normal side of comfortable versus awkward. Harry had fallen asleep in Louis’ bed the previous night and, though Louis usually always woke him up to go sleep in his own bed since the falling asleep part wasn’t uncommon, Harry had awoken himself sometime around 3:00 am and carefully extracted his limbs from the blankets Louis must have thrown over him at some point before falling asleep next to him. It had happened more than a few times before, of course. They frequently shared their beds with each other. After their childhood sleepovers, it seemed silly to stop sleeping next to each other just because they were older. But Louis’ bed was soft and Louis routinely sent Harry back to his more firm bed whenever Harry happened to be the bed interloper so his back wouldn’t be sore the next day.

Now, two days since and zero mention of the not-kiss-but-actually-a-kiss, Louis had made Harry tea without even a prompt or request from Harry. Louis even brought it to him with a few biscuits on a tray and snuggled in next to him on the couch where he was sitting playing Xbox. Louis had tucked himself so closely into Harry that his knees pressed into Harry’s thigh though there was an entire oversized living room open and available.

Harry didn’t mind. In fact, he relished in the warmth provided by both the tea and the body contact. Harry refused to read into it. But he wanted to. He wanted to believe it was more than what it seemed. He wanted nothing more than for Louis to finally realize Harry was right there, waiting for him. But Harry knew better. He knew Louis’ reactions resulted from subconsciously dealing with his dad dying. In his loneliness he’d reverted back to the tactile mannerisms of his childhood. Harry had read a few psychology articles on providing support to someone when their loved one dies. Not that Louis’ dad was a loved one, but Harry figured the psychology had to be somewhat the same. Good, bad, or otherwise, Troy was important to Louis, or at least his development. His death would change Louis. How could it not?

Still, he found it hard not to be distracted by the press of Louis’ body against his. He kept fucking up easy game maneuvers because his eyes kept drifting from the screen to the tattered holes of his trousers because just a few inches north lay Louis’s bare knees; he was wearing a pair of nearly threadbare sweatpants that he’d stolen from Harry sometime around sixth form. 

He hated that now, unlike before, the mere press Louis’ body gave him a flutter of adrenaline. If Harry wasn’t careful he could fuck up everything he and Louis had ever built up between them. Each of them had other friends. They both had their sisters. Louis had an entire staff at his fingertips. But nothing had ever come close to the kind of kinship between them. Closer than brothers. There was a term that routinely danced around his head that Harry refused to speak for fear it would break his heart when everything all fell apart. Soulmate just felt so heavy and life-altering, and so, so right - even if he couldn’t admit it.

Yet, Harry would take whatever affection Louis was willing to give him. He remembered what his mom told him once, that sometimes people don’t always know how to give love and where Louis was concerned, Harry figured a little bit of love is better than none.

“Hey, H?” Louis tentatively asked. Harry’s lack of focus due to their touching was now compounded by Louis trying to have a conversation and the whole thing became too much for Harry, causing him to pause his FIFA game.

“Yeah?” Harry turned to Louis, finding Louis’ newly familiar soft gaze already looking back at him.

“You want to grab dinner tonight?” Louis looked down as he finished asking. Harry felt ready to implode with tension being this close to Louis. He started to pick at the fraying edges of the tear on his knee. And if his elbow happened to rest on Louis’ knees, so be it. Harry thought that by not resting his elbow on Louis, Louis might suspect him being weird about touching, or not touching. Or whatever it was that Harry actually meant. Trying to not cross lines was confusing enough when it was just him, but now Louis appeared to be blurring the lines. 

“Considering we grab dinner most nights, yeah. Sure,” Harry responded lightly. He had to. For self preservation’s sake. 

Louis rolled his eyes and punched Harry’s arm. Harry smiled and metaphorically sighed in relief that Louis hadn’t found him out via the heart palpitations he’d caused by nearly asking Harry on a date. . Of course it wasn’t a date. Harry decided he really needed to get his emotions in check. Perhaps he would call his mum in the morning and chat things out with her. She always seem to know what to do and how to talk him off the proverbial ledge he constantly found himself on, especially where his feelings with Louis were concerned.

“I was thinking of actually like...going out,” Louis said as he looked up through his eyelashes. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a night out. Actually get dressed up and go out.”

“You sure you want to do that? Paps have been fucking pariahs out there since that stupid TMZ thing broke about your dad.”

“I’m sure. Please, H? I want to...need to get out. I feel like I’m just holing myself away, waiting for the phone to ring and tell me he’s-” Louis paused. 

“Gone?” Harry supplemented for him. 

“Yeah. That.” Harry felt Louis take a large breath and exhale slowly next to him. “Besides, we’ve always been good at ditching paps before.”

Harry thought about the prospect. Louis wasn’t wrong. It had been ages since they’d gone out, just the two of them, for dinner. Usually they were flanked with any number of business associates, most often Louis’ assistant creative director Zayn and social media manager Liam, and sometimes Niall, but that was more when financials were at the forefront of the outing. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time it had been just Harry and Louis.

“Sure, Lou. Where were you thinking? I can make reservations if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll take care of it.”

That was...unexpected. Literally Harry made a living from managing Louis’ life, including making dinner reservations.

“Fine. What time should I tell the car to be here?”

“No car, I want to drive.”

That was even more unexpected. Especially for a night out.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Louis faked a frown.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re suspicious of me. I just...I want to go out. I want to be normal. Just you and me. No work talk, no weirdness that I effectively pay you to be out and around me. No special treatment of a car or security or whatever. Besides, we won’t need it where we’re going.”

“And where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one, I promise. I hope.”

“Does this mean we get to take the Lambo?”

“You’ll see.” 

Harry could swear he felt Louis squeeze his knee as he used it as a crutch of sorts to stand up.

“But what should I wear? I have to know where we’re going to know how I’m supposed to be dressed.”

“Whatever you want. Just wear clothes, H. You always look good.”

Harry swallowed thickly. Either he was absolutely mental or something had definitely shifted.

“Be ready by eight okay?”

“Okay?” Harry responded in more of a question than an a statement.

“Good. Great. Perfect. Eight o’clock. It’s a date,” Louis said, barely above a whisper as he turned and walked away from the living room, so quietly Harry thought he almost certainly had misheard.

A date. 

A date as in a  _ date _ or a date as in the informal meaning  used to say that a particular time is a good time to meet? Harry thought it had to be the second version. 

Didn’t it?

 

###  **< >+<> February, 2012 <>+<>**

“You didn’t have to come home just for my birthday, Louis!”

“Like hell I didn’t, H. It’s your Eighteenth! Couldn’t miss that one, now could I? The world is at your fingertips now and I wanted to be here with you while you get to experience it.”

Harry’s smile was brilliant and it made skipping classes and paying his dick of a design partner to take notes for him worth it. He’d practically do anything for Harry, especially as Harry always did so much for him.

“What do you have in mind?” Harry asked.

“Normally I’d tell you we could do whatever you wanted, but I actually have a plan.” Louis wasn’t lying, either. He had been planning this day with Gemma for weeks. Unbeknownst to Harry, Gemma and her boyfriend Michael had managed to make it back home to celebrate with them, too. Louis had talked to Anne and Harry’s step father Robin, who had taken Harry out to lunch so that he wouldn’t be at home while Louis snuck in and decorated Harry’s bedroom in half-assedly blown up balloons and dozens and dozens of streamers. Louis had even parked his car a block away so that Harry wouldn’t notice it in the driveway. 

Louis had even avoided Harry’s calls and texts for two days for fear he would slip up and confess his plans. It was rude, making Harry think he either forgot or didn’t care about him or his eighteenth birthday, but when Harry had walked into his room to find Louis with a gift wrap bow on his head waiting for him in the middle of his bed, he’d nearly tackled him in excitement and Louis knew all was forgiven.

“I still can’t believe you came. I thought…”

“You thought I had forgotten?” 

Harry looked shyly away from Louis. 

“I could never. Now come on, get ready! We have whole lot of birthdaying to do!”

While Harry jumped in the shower, Louis pulled out his phone to text Gemma that the plan was on and for her and Michael to meet up with him and Harry shortly before midnight so that they all could be there when Harry got to order his first legal drink.

He thought back to his own eighteenth birthday bash that Harry, with the help of their friend Calvin, threw for him. Harry’s dad had let him throw the party at his Bungalow in London, since Louis was already there for Uni and it was a central location for their friends to make it to on Christmas Eve without needing anything but a quick train ride home on Christmas day. Of course Harry had come earlier in the week being on holiday break himself, wanting to spend as much time as possible with Louis. Harry never outright said it, but Louis knew that being so far away was hard on Harry. They had spent their whole lives across the street from each other and now it was hours and hours.

Louis smiled at the memory of them going to the Piccadilly Christmas carnival as he picked up the teddy bear he had won for Harry. Louis was so close to winning on the ring toss and Harry had wanted him so desperately to get the big prize that he just kept buying more and more tickets for Louis. Louis tried to protest but Harry insisted. Part of his birthday present and what not, Harry had claimed then. So Louis let Harry buy ticket after ticket and he finally, finally, tossed onto the center bottle and the poor carnival man felt so bad it had taken Louis so long to ring one on that he let Louis pick whatever he wanted. Louis, in turn, asked Harry which prize he liked best. Harry tried to pull out whatever excuse he could to not pick, but ultimately Louis had played the “It’s my birthday, I insist!” card and got Harry to pick out the giant bear. 

For the last two years, that bear had resided on Harry’s bed and become a stand in for a pillow whenever Louis stayed over while home from uni and forgot his pillow back at school.

Harry finally finished up in the shower and asked Louis to help him pick out what to wear since he had no idea what the day was going to entail.

Louis loved to pick out Harry’s clothes. Louis felt very special having that kind of power. He got to pick how Harry chose to present himself to the outside world. Also, Harry looked good in practically anything he ever wore. It infuriated Louis. He could honestly go out in public with his long curls wrapped up in a post-shower towel and everyone would think it some trendy turban.

“Actually, that’s gift number one,” Louis said, pulling out a haphazardly wrapped gift box from a bag he had hidden in the corner.

Harry’s eyes lit up. “You being here is gift enough. I promise you don’t need to get me anything.”

“Don’t be daft. Of course I had to get you things. Lots of things. But I confess this is a special something. And if you don’t like it, well too bad. I can’t return it because I made it. But I can always make you something else, if you really don’t like it.” Louis was nervous presenting the gift to Harry. He had been in Uni for almost two years for fashion and design after many conversations with his mum over the pros and cons of his career choice.

Jay more than supported him going into fashion. She had seen the garments he drew in his sketchbooks and had taught him how to use her sewing machine so he could make the girls matching dresses with their dolls for birthday gifts and sew heart-shaped Christmas ornaments for the family and anything in between. He had even made Lottie a gown for a school dance. There was no denying he loved making clothes. 

But.

There was one time when Louis was visiting his father, one of the last times he had intentionally done so, when Troy had been rummaging through Louis’ bag, looking for anything he could use to keep his altered state. Money, drugs, alcohol, all of the above. He thought Louis had been holding out on him, apparently, and when Louis had come back from the bathroom, he’d found his father hunched over his bag with his clothing tossed all over the floor. His heart plummeted to his toes when he realized Troy had found his sketchbook, a new one from Harry since he had filled every last page, and was flipping through the pages. 

“Are these your faggy drawings?” Troy had slurred.

“Give it back,” Louis was trying to remain calm and not upset his father any further.

“Tell me, boy. Did you scribble these flouncy dresses?”

“Just give it back. Please. You want money? I’ll give you money.”

“I want answers. No real son of mine would draw this gay shit.”

It was one punch after another to Louis.  _ Fag. Gay. Flouncy. _ Every word that had come spewing out of his father’s mouth was, in Louis’ mind at the time, reason enough to not pursue fashion.

“I said tell me. Did you draw these? I always knew you were soft. Drawing dresses. Do you also wear them?” Troy tucked the book under his arm and began tearing through Louis’ bag even more. “Am I going to find all this frilly shit hidden away in here, too?”

Louis stood still as a statue, waiting for Troy to tire himself out. It was the same tactic he used on Phoebe and Daisy when they were throwing tantrums while he babysat them. All children wore themselves out eventually.

That, and he knew it wouldn’t take much for his father to over-power him even if he did try to fight back. He refused to cry, he refused to fight. He refused to give in to the argument his father was clearly attempting to bait him into. But in that moment, he also refused to let his father to dictate a single decision in his life from there on out. So when the time came to truly pick a path, he decided on fashion - his father be damned.

Louis’ eyes teared up as he watched Harry carefully unwrap the paper around the garment box, gently fold back the tissue paper, and hold up the jumper he had painstakingly hand stitched because he wanted every single stitch of it to be perfect. He looked up to Harry, who had one of the biggest smiles Louis had ever seen.

“You remembered,” Harry’s voice, caught in this throat, came out squeaky and not much louder than a whisper.

“Course I did,” Louis nodded. 

Harry had come to visit Louis during the fall session and Louis took him to one of his favorite fabric shops in London. Harry was drawn to the fleece lined silky nylon fabrics that, if Louis was honest, were a bit out of his student budget. But watching Harry run his fingertips over row after row of every shade of the same material, Louis knew he had to come back to purchase a few yards to make something for Harry. After a lot of shifts at the small coffee shop he worked at most mornings, Louis was finally able to buy the fabric.

“Louis, I…” Harry trailed off as he pulled the hooded garment over his head. The asymmetrical neckline cutting over on the far left side of Harry’s shoulder showed off his neck ideally. The small zips on the sides hit his hips at exactly the right length, and the stretch across Harry’s back accentuated his broad shoulders perfectly.

“Couldn’t have made it fit better if I tried,” Louis murmured, impressed with himself.

“Lou,” Harry started again, still not having said anything else about it. “It’s beautiful. I’m speechless.”

There were the tiniest flecks of gold in the black shine of the nylon that kept catching in the light as Harry checked himself out in the mirror. Louis was a bit speechless himself at how stunning Harry looked in his garment. 

Harry finally took his eyes off his own reflection and before Louis could brace himself, Harry had crashed into him, holding him tightly. 

“Thank you, Boo. I will love it forever.”

In that moment, seeing the absolute and unabashed joy and love on Harry’s face, Louis knew he had made the right decision - his father be damned.

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

Louis had asked him on a date. 

Or, well, maybe not quite a date. But maybe a date? Harry couldn’t be sure which way the night was headed, but he knew he would rather be there with Louis, riding shotgun with the windows down while Louis kept glancing at him with a soft smile on his face, than anywhere else in the world. 

“Where are you taking me, Tommo?”

“Don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it when you do.”

“Everyone else does.”

Louis turned down the music just a bit and once again took his eyes off the road in favor of looking over at Harry.

“True. But you’re not everyone else.”

Harry’s whole body shivered with butterflies. He wanted to ask Louis what that meant and if he wasn’t like everybody else, then what was he? He wanted to reach over and place his hand on Louis’ thigh. He wanted to play with the little hairs at the back of Louis’ neck that were whipping unruly in the wind. He wanted to crawl out of his skin for how much he ached to both kiss and slap Louis all at the same time. 

It could be so easy between them but there always had to be something, some reason or another, that it wasn’t.

Instead, Harry just turned away, watching the coastline ebb and flow from them as Louis drove him to some mystery place. He held his arm out the window of the Lamborghini and surfed the air with his hand, moving it up and over the edge of the world in the distance. The motion always reminded him of when he used to do it as a kid. Harry felt comforted knowing that despite how messy his feelings were now, one simple act could make it all go away for a few moments.

“Do you really want to know where we’re going?” Louis asked over the sound of wind and stereo.

“Would you even tell me if I said yes?” 

“Nope.”

Harry looked back at him and laughed. Louis’ smirk infuriated and infatuated Harry, like always. He would give anything to kiss the conniving smile right off Louis’ face.

“Then what’s the point, really?” Harry said after a few moments.

“There is none. Unless you really, really want to know.”

“Nah, I’m okay with not knowing.”

“Are you really?”

“No, not really. But what other choice do I have?” The cryptic response sat heavy on his tongue and suddenly the air felt thicker, too. 

He needed a distraction from his thoughts.

Harry moved his hand to play with the fringe of a rip in the knee of his favorite pair of denim at the exact same time as Louis went to reach for the gear shift. They bumped hands ever so slightly, both miscalculating the distance their appendages needed to go to reach their destination.

Louis looked down at their hands while Harry looked at him, half expecting Louis to laugh it off. Instead Louis deliberately looked back to the road as if his focus on it was actually the only thing making the pavement appear before them and tightened his grip on the gear shaft before eventually relaxing it again. There was something about the hand gesture that reminded Harry of the scene in Pride and Prejudice where Darcy helps Lizzy up into the carriage and then flexes his hand as he walks away. Did Louis really get so flustered by the grazing of knuckles that he needed to flex and recompose himself? Harry hardly believed that could be the case. 

They’d touched before. They’d spooned, they’d massaged each other’s tensions away, they’d consistently sat with at least a leg draped over the other, not to mention the years of back rubbing.

They’d even grinded up on each other, each truly letting go for the first time in their lives when Harry finally got to London and joined Louis in Uni. Harry had found a small gay club online before Louis even left for school that he had begged Louis to try every time he had come to visit Louis in London. Every single time over the course of the two years Louis was in school without Harry, Louis told him that once he was old enough, once they were there together for real, Louis would take him.

Harry always suspected that Louis was just a bit too shy and scared to go before he was ready and Louis gave himself the excuse that  _ Harry _ was too young and that  _ Harry _ was the one who wasn’t ready, just to save a bit of face. Harry didn’t mind. In fact, the idea of them leaving  _ their _ dorm, going out  _ together _ and coming back  _ home _ , always thrilled Harry. Of course he hadn’t told Louis his suspicions. Turns out he never had to because after they were both spinning from too much alcohol and the first true taste of freedom being at the club offered them to just be unapologetically themselves, they were spooning half naked on the first bed they could reach once inside their room. Louis had patted Harry’s hair out of his own face and whisper-slurred from behind Harry, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

“For us to go out there or to live together or bed?” Harry had asked.

“All of it. Everything. With you. I’ve just…”

“What, Boo?’ Harry had whisper-slurred back.

“Wanted it for a long time.”

Harry remembered grabbing Louis’ arm draped over his midsection and pulling him closer, tucking himself even further into Louis before the world had stopped spinning and all went dark. When he had woken up that next morning, Louis was in his own bed and Harry was tucked in with a bottle of water and some paracetamol on his night stand. 

A few months later when he finally had the chat with his mum about being codependent on Louis and she asked him if they really were only friends, Harry realized he probably couldn’t deny that night out at the club was the beginning of the change in the way he saw Louis. No longer the big kid from across the street who used to walk him home from school, but instead the man who had overcome so much and was still so gentle and protective.

And now, looking at the same man - older, wiser, already a bit of grey flecked into his hair - it registered to Harry that no one else could possibly understand the wars that had raged inside of Louis for him to remain gentle, soft, sincere. No one else could ever really know what it felt like for Louis to stand strong and tall in the face of all life had thrown at him and instead of break, flourish.

Louis, rightly so, hadn’t let many people into his life after he graduated. In fact he cut a lot of people out that he had deemed unnecessary and Harry couldn’t do anything but watch him try and be brave, taking leaps and bounds, branching out on his own.

Knowing this, knowing that Louis kept his world small as a protection measure to not get hurt by anyone in it, Harry knew he couldn’t let himself fall more in love with a man who didn’t love him back and a man he was afraid would push him away if he ever found out. 

He looked up at Louis, eyes still glued to the road, and stuck his arm out the window again. This time he wasn’t looking at the world out there, but was instead too focused on the world inside the car, the world that existed just between them. He focused on the fringe across Louis’ forehead and how it was half an inch too long so it started to curl around at the end. He focused on the tired, dark circles under Louis’ eyes, wishing not that he didn’t clearly wear his emotions, but rather he didn’t have such a heavy burden to bear.

Harry focused on the feeling of isolation within companionship.

The one place he never wanted to be was anywhere without Louis. And now he found himself exactly there - in love.

 

###  **< >+<> May, 2013** **< >+<>**

“I had an offer!”

“You what?” Harry yelled back at Louis, trying to hear and be heard over the music. 

Louis had been sitting on his news for hours, waiting for the right time to tell Harry. Now, with the base thumping and their flat crowded with more people than either of them knew, their carpet spotted with stains of red wine and Jack and Gingers and lord only knows what else, seemed as good a time as any.

“I got an offer! For Paris!”

Harry shook his head and gestured that he still couldn’t hear Louis over the noise. Instead of trying to yell again, Louis grabbed Harry by his shirt and lead him through the maze of bodies and half-full plastic cups. It took ages to get from their living room to their bedroom, considering on any other day they could sneeze at one end of their tiny flat and it would rustle the curtains on the other side. 

Once safely inside their shared empty room, door closed and locked behind them, Louis finally tried again.

“After my show, in my critique, I had an offer,” Louis’ throat suddenly went dry. He would have argued it was from the attempted yells over the music had Harry pushed him and definitely not from the fear of the unknown.

“Oh my god, Lou! That’s amazing. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I…” Louis trailed off. There were a million reasons, really. But none of which he could actually tell Harry. “I needed time to process. To consider.”

“Consider what? This is what you’ve wanted for forever. It’s literally the whole point of having your senior show. To be seen and someone saw you. And wanted you!”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing! Boo, you gotta take it. I’m so proud of you.”

Louis swallowed down the thickness resting in the back of his mouth. Harry was so proud of him. How could he tell him the rest? It would break him. It would break both of them.

“There’s more, H.”

“Tell me everything!” Harry sat down on Louis’ bed. “You were whisked away so quickly after the runway that I couldn’t even congratulate you properly. It was beautiful, Louis. Truly. That dress at the end? Layer and layers and layers of organza and yet it was so sheer and you could still see all the constellations underneath. It was perfect.”

“That is a beautiful fabric.”

“Beautiful fabric manipulated by beautiful hands connected to a beautiful mind.”

Louis blushed. He was particularly proud of that garment and that was the reason it had closed the show. Harry was the inspiration for the dress, not that Louis would ever tell him. 

After almost a year with no contact, Troy had reached out to Louis and explained he was sober nearly five months and would like to try and make amends. Louis kept his distance, but gave into phone calls on occasion. When, a few months into their attempt at reconnecting, Louis’ dad had mentioned he’d be in London for some reason and asked him out to dinner, Louis was skeptical at best but went along with it. Troy did seem different during their conversations and was the one reaching out to Louis consistently. That was part of Louis’ initial conditions for letting Troy back in. If he wanted any kind of relationship with Louis, he needed to take control of it. He needed to call, to initiate conversation. He needed to prove that he wanted it. And, for the most part, he had. With his guard up, Louis agreed to see his father.

As to be expected, it was an complete and absolute disaster.

Louis’ shift at work had run late since his relief didn’t show up. By the time he got to the pub where he was meeting his dad, there was an empty pint glass setting directly next to a nearly full one. Louis took one look at his father and turned away.

“No, son. Don’t go,” Troy grabbed him by the sleeve. “It was just something to do to pass the time until you finally showed up. Took you long enough, didn’t it? Besides, it’s just a few pints of cider. Nothing hard. It doesn’t really count.”

“It’s still alcohol, Dad.”

“Cider is hardly alcohol. But if it bothers you, I won’t drink it.” He motioned for the barkeep to come over. “On second thought, I don’t want it. But get my son here anything he’d like.”

“That’ll be a water for me, thanks,” Louis’ eyes were narrowed in suspicion. 

“Just a water? The world is your oyster and you chose water in a pub?” Troy was swaying slightly standing up against the wooden rail. Louis couldn’t tell if the overwhelming scent of booze was coming from his father or from the pub in general. Louis sadly thought it was probably the aforementioned. 

“Yeah. Just a water. And, actually make it two,” Louis said to the bartender. “Looks like he could use some.”

“I told ya, I’m fine. Was only cider,” Troy’s sentence ended with a hiccup that made Louis want to bolt for the door. There was no way he was that unsteady from one pint of cider. Louis knew this was a bad idea. Whatever level of sober his father may or may not have achieved prior to the evening, it didn’t matter. It was all a lie - completely negated by his drinking tonight.

“Shall we go to a booth, then?” his dad asked him.

Louis really didn’t want to, but for the sake of keeping peace, he agreed and walked away first, not waiting or wanting to see his father most likely stumble a bit behind him.

“What exactly is it that you want?” Louis had asked him one they were both seated.

“Why do I need to want something in order to ask to see you?”

“Because the last time I saw you, you were passed out after tearing into me for hours about being a, how did you put it? Nancy-boy? Yeah, that’s it. A soft nancy-boy for making ladies clothes.”

“I gotta be honest I don’t really remember that.”

“Wow, color me shocked. We were supposed to be having dinner so I could tell you about the amazing scholarship I earned after a six-week summer internship. I was so happy and thought since I had something that I earned all on my own,” Louis said, tersely, “I thought, stupidly, obviously, that you might actually be proud. Instead I got berated by you because only nancy-boys like lady clothes. That is what you said to me. I had to drive you home, practically carry you upstairs and left you on the sofa.” Louis wanted to cry but refused to give his father any more ammunition to hurt him. “Does that refresh your memory? Because while you can’t remember, I don’t get the luxury of forgetting.”

“I’m trying here, kid.”

“Sure. So why are you here exactly? In London, I mean.”

“There’s a Blackjack tournament I was hoping to buy into.”

“Hoping to buy into?”

“Well yeah, I mean…” 

Louis knew exactly what he had meant. It felt like daggers slicing through him. How could he have been so foolish to fall for Troy’s bullshit again?

“You mean you don’t have any money and were hoping I’d pay for you. Is that it?”

“It’s just that, I’ve been sick, kid. You gotta understand. I’ve been sick and haven’t been able to work.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so ill if you didn’t drink yourself sick every night.”

“I -”

“Save your breath. I really don’t care to hear your excuses.”

“It’s only a hundred pounds. Please, kid.”

“I’m not a fucking kid!” Louis raised his voice in frustration that his father would never take no for an answer. “In fact, one hundred pounds if you can tell me how old I actually am. Two hundred if you can tell me my birthday.”

Louis knew he’d regret the challenge the moment the words rolled off his lips. There was no winner in this wage. Either Troy knew and Louis lost or Troy didn’t know and Louis still lost because his own fucking dad couldn’t tell him how old he was. Louis looked his father in his eyes and saw the shell of the man he used to love so desperately. He saw the ghost of his father who used to let Louis ride on his feet when he walked if Louis got too tired. He saw eyes that matched his own, except Troy’s were all but dead. 

His father fish mouthed for a few moments then averted his eyes and looked down at the sticky table between them.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought.” 

Without another word, Louis stood up and beelined to the ATM at the back corner of the pub. He slid his card in and pushed his PIN onto the number pad. He blinked back tears and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth the way a school therapist had taught him. He collected himself before finally turning back to Troy. He stood next to the booth with the cash in hand, hoping that by some miracle of miracles, his father could answer him. Instead he was met with silence.

“I’m twenty-one. And I was born on Christmas Eve and you can’t even bother yourself to remember. One hundred pounds and you don’t contact me again. Deal?”

Troy didn’t say a word but nodded ever so slightly. Louis threw down the money and never looked back.

He made it all the way back to his new flat with Harry before finally breaking down. He cried so hard he was dry heaving when Harry came home and found him hunched over the toilet. 

Harry rushed in and didn’t even ask what had happened. He knew, of course he did, that everything had fallen apart. Without saying “I told you so,” Harry just sat down on the cold tile next to Louis and rubbed his back until the heaving stopped. He left Louis only once, just to go grab a glass of water, and came right back to help Louis drink it up. He eventually settled Louis into a more comfortable position, still on the bathroom floor, but at least snuggled into Harry’s side. Louis was clutching Harry’s shirt and the entire left side grew damp from Louis’ tears, but Harry just let it happen. Harry spouted some nonsense about the galaxy and how we are just so infinitesimal that, in a freeing way, nothing mattered. He talked about sun and the moon and all the stars in between. Louis listened as Harry told him that people were fleeting but energy remained and how people were nothing more than a collection of stardust. 

Eventually the tears subsided and Louis’ breathing evened out. He vaguely remembered Harry helping him off the floor and tucking him into bed, but he very clearly remembered Harry turning to crawl into his own bed and Louis reaching out to stop him. 

“Please, H,” he choked back the words trying to get them out. “Don’t leave me.” 

While Harry held him close, Louis had a vision. Midnight blue with gold and silver and rhinestone crystals, suns and moons and all the stars between.

“So who offered you a position?” Harry asked, snapping Louis back to the present. Harry then patted the quilt, signaling for Louis to come sit next to him.

“Yeah, so that’s the thing,” Louis stayed planted where he was, back against the door.

“What’s the thing?” Harry asked. Louis watched his mind trying to understand the disconnect between his happiness and Louis’. Louis decided it was best to just tell him. Rip the band-aid off, as it were.

“It’s in Paris.”

“Paris? Louis, holy shit! Are you kidding me? That’s amazing!”

Louis didn’t expect that reaction. Harry was all scrunched eyes and wide smile, curls falling messily out of his bun. 

“Did you hear me? I got an offer to move to Paris.”

“I heard you! It’s incredible.”

“Paris. France.” Louis tried to get Harry to catch on. “France, as in another country.”

“I know where Paris is, you twat. Do you even know how many designers get to actually work in Paris? You deserve it more than anyone else in the world!”

“I don’t know if I’m going to take it yet.”

“You absolute nutter. Of course you’re going to take it.”

“So you think I should go?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Louis wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. Harry wanted him to go while Louis had thought Harry would be devastated. Louis felt like such an ass for once again projecting his feelings onto Harry. There was a part of him that expected Harry to put up a fight, to beg him to stay, to tell him he couldn’t fathom London, life, without him. But of course Louis was being stupid and putting too much of his own emotions onto Harry yet again. 

“You can’t think of any reason I should stay and try and find work here?” He asked, eyes downcast, afraid they would give him away.

The base vibrated through the walls and yet inside their room, a pin could have dropped and it would have sounded like an atomic bomb.

“I can think of a million reasons for you to stay,” Harry said, standing up.

The moment Harry reached out and Louis felt his touch his whole self melted into Harry, finding support in the person who was no longer his childhood friend, but instead the man who had always been there to put Louis back together, no matter how many fragmented pieces his life got broken into. 

“But we both know you need to go,” Harry hummed, barely above a whisper, lips practically pressed to Louis’ ear. “You deserve the world, Louis. I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.”

Louis rested his forehead in the crook of Harry’s neck, finding comfort in the familiar scent that was uniquely Harry. As they stood there, embraced, matching the rise and fall of each other’s breathing until it fell in sync, a calm washed over Louis in a way he had never known. 

It had only taken the mere thought of leaving Harry to realize he never wanted to be anywhere Harry wasn’t, and in two weeks, he would start a life an entire country away. Louis would worry about that later. 

Instead, Louis focused on the pulse of his entire world wrapped around him.

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

The Lambo slowed and Harry looked down the stretch of road Louis had turned onto. He was perplexed because, as far as he knew, there was nothing remotely close to where they were, certainly not a fancy restaurant. They were headed south on Vista Del Mar and all Harry could see only fields on either side of the road.

“Lou, where are we going?”

“A place the paps will never find us,” Louis smirked. Harry knew Louis was intentionally being a shit about divulging details. The thought of Louis taking him to an unfamiliar place made the butterflies in his belly flap their wings a little faster.

The road turned narrow and winding, cutting through what Harry thought to be pasture of some sort. A few minutes later, Harry’s suspicions turned out to be correct as they drove past a ranch and stables.

“Louis, we shouldn’t be here. This has to be someone’s private property.”

“It is,” Louis again replied without further explanation.

“I’m trying really hard not to be dense here, but I’m not following.” Harry played Louis’ words over and over in his head. Still they didn’t make sense to him. Nothing about this evening did, so he tried his best to just accept it and go with the flow of it all. Louis apparently had a plan and that was enough for Harry to remember to breathe every now and again instead of just worry. They traveled up the drive a bit further until they climbed a hillside. Just over the top of the hill, the trees that had increasingly lined the path suddenly ended and opened up into a circle drive of a beautiful, sprawling house made seemingly out of nothing but glass. What very little was left of the sunset reflected off the glass, creating a water-like effect. It took Harry’s breath away. 

Louis stopped the car and fixed the fringe of his hair in the rear view mirror before getting out and closing the door behind him.

Of all the places in the world Harry expected his day to end, this was a ten billion to one odds of possibly knowing. Just as he reached for the handle, the door popped open, Louis waiting on the outside for him.

“Are you coming?” Louis asked with a bashful quality entirely unfamiliar to Harry. It was strange to be on the receiving end of Louis’ actions when he couldn’t predict what came next.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” Harry tried again, hoping Louis would fill in some of the gaps.

“A friend of mine is a chef and sometimes rents out his place for dinner parties.”

“We’re going to a dinner party?”

“Of sorts. Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Harry responded without a moment’s hesitation.

“Then come with me.” He held out his hand for Harry.

Harry, convinced his palms were sweaty, attempted to casually rub them off on his thighs before reaching out to accept the hand waiting for him. Louis laughed and scrunched his mouth up into Harry’s favorite of his smiles, the one that looked almost like a “V” shape, the one he’d wear when something particularly tickled him.

“So you saw that, then?” Harry rolled his eyes and got out of the car.

“You’re not exactly the definition of subtle, Harry.” Louis closed the door behind him. “Shall we?” 

Harry allowed himself to be led up the meticulously manicured stone path that meandered to the front door of the house. They crossed the house’s moat via a footbridge .

“Is that…” Harry trailed off, looking back at the little river that ran around them.

“It’s for the swans.”

… _ the swans? _ Louis had taken Harry to some of the finest restaurants in the world. Michelin stars and James Beard winning chefs, but he had never before taken him to a place with a moat for swans. 

“What kind of dinner party, exactly, did you say this was?”

“I didn’t.”

With that, Louis opened the door and walked them right in. Harry looked down at the marble beneath his feet and felt so inadequate and under dressed, even if this was just someone’s home. He felt like he should take off his shoes at the very least, but Louis, still holding Harry’s hand, kept walking, so Harry had no choice but to follow, shoes and all.

“Tom?” Louis called out. 

“Kitchen!” 

Louis laughed more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Should have known.”

Harry vaguely recognized the voice and tried to place it. Like a mantra over and over, he kept repeating  _ Tom _ until it began to lose all meaning.

Louis maneuvered them through the house with practiced ease, as if he had been there a hundred times before. The thought irrationally bothered Harry. Louis had been plenty of places without him, but this seemed like one of those things Harry should have been aware of, at least peripherally. As they approached the kitchen, Harry couldn’t help but notice the dining area set for two, and only two, people. His heart sped up. A dinner party for just them. In a chef’s private home. 

Louis had done all of this for Harry. Definitely a date, then.

“Knock, knock!” Louis verbally announced their arrival just as the chef looked up.

“Tom, as in Tom Colicchio?”

Louis’ smile turned as wide and radiant as the sun while he watched Harry’s eyes pop open in surprise as he connected the dots.

“Yes, Tom as in Tom Colicchio,” Louis said, smile still dancing on his face in excitement for Harry.

“You’re telling me Tom Colicchio is your chef-friend? I’m standing in Tom Colicchio’s personal kitchen and I walked past Tom Colicchio’s personal dining room and I crossed Tom Colicchio’s personal moat for Tom Colicchio’s personal swans?” 

“The one and only. At least the only one I know.” Louis squeezed his hand. Harry could have burst into tears. Harry had seen every single episode of Top Chef ever recorded. He was obsessed and constantly asked if there was any way Louis could find a way to dress Padma for an event. Louis always laughed and said he wasn’t much in the way of haute couture, but would keep his options open. 

Years and years of loving something and now he stood there, a part of it.

Tom set down his knife and wiped his hands on his apron before extending a hand in Harry’s direction. “Tom Colicchio, though I have a feeling you already know that considering you just said my name about five times.”

“Chef Colicchio,” Harry reciprocated the gesture and reached out his right hand, still not letting go of Louis with his left.

“No need to call me Chef unless you want to hop in my kitchen. Tom is fine.” He turned to Louis, “You made good time.”

“Traffic was light,” Louis responded, Harry still a bit too starstruck to respond. 

“I figured it would take you longer so it’s going to be a little bit yet. If you head out to the patio, I’ve brought someone out there to make drinks. Help yourselves and I’ll have appetizers out in a few. We’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Chef,” Harry said, still in a slight daze. “Mr. Colicchio. Mr. Tom Chef. Tom.” He finally stuttered out. 

“Yes, thanks, Tom,” Louis emphasized, trying to make up for Harry’s innocent blunder. “You have no idea how many brownie points I’m scoring tonight.”

“I think I have an idea,” Tom said, winking before getting back to work. “Go. Enjoy yourselves.”

Before Harry could embarrass himself further, Louis led him back out of the kitchen and towards what Harry could only assume was the patio. And by patio, Tom clearly meant an entire open-air type bar, again set with one table and two chairs, surrounded by candle lit lanterns. 

Louis finally let go of Harry’s hand to pull out a chair. “Sit, I’ll grab the drinks and be right back.” Harry felt about ready to short circuit. He was having drinks at Tom Colicchio’s private home on a date with Louis. He tried to swallow down as much hope and want as possible, just in case…in case he’d read things wrong. But with the way Louis looked back at him and smiled while waiting for their drinks, Harry knew with near certainty that his hunch was right. Now it was just a matter of Harry processing the why of it all, or, maybe the why  _ now _ in particular.

When they were both finally seated with beverage in hand, Harry tried to study Louis’ face and body language. He noted the way Louis adjusted his chair to be more on the side of the table, closer to Harry, than across from him. He observed that when Louis crossed his legs, they were angled into Harry instead of away. And then there was the soft, flirtatious smile that had been plastered on Louis’ face since they had arrived.

This was a  _ date _ date and Louis had asked him on it.

Harry tried to remain calm, tried to not let his breathing become too shallow in nervousness. He tried to remember how to speak to Louis in the same way as he would have before the whole pretty-sure-this-is-a-date date. He tried to laugh at appropriate times and listen to what Louis said but the only thing going through Harry’s mind remained a chant of  _ I’m on a date with Louis. Louis asked me on a date. A real date. I’m on a real date with Louis. _

“Harry!” Louis snapped his fingers in front of Harry. “Are you listening? I was telling you about a possible crossover project I have in the works with Top Chef. I’m telling you I get to outfit Padma and Tom and you are acting like you don’t even care.”

Harry’s brain needed to catch up. 

“You get to what, now?” Harry asked, unable to pull out the information Louis had been telling him apart from his chant.

“I said, I’ve been asked to work with Top Chef this season and design a line of jackets to be worn by the contestants. That’s how I met Tom.”

“Holy fuck, Lou!” He leaned forward, closer into Louis’ space. 

“They are doing the whole season as like a travel show and wanted new chef jackets that are also a bit more utilitarian than normal. When I heard about it, I made some calls and submitted some designs and dang near begged for the job. I’ve been going out of my mind waiting to tell you. I can finally introduce you to Padma, I get to be a guest judge on an episode and everything.”

“Louis, that’s incredible. That’s huge! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before now. I’m so proud of you, Boo.”

“That’s the sort of response I was looking for the first time I told you the news. What’s up with you anyway? You’re acting weird.”

Harry blinked several times before bursting out into laughter.

“I’m being weird?”

“Yes, you are.”

“You asked me on a date!”

“Yes, I did.”

“So it is a date?”

“Yes?” Louis said more like a question than an answer.

“And you don’t think that that’s weird?”

“Not really, no.”

Before Harry could ask any more questions, Tom came to fetch them inside for dinner. 

Louis chatted with Tom like it was the most effortless thing in the world as they walked back into the dining room from the patio. Harry walked along a few paces behind like an idiot, unable to string more than three words together to make a sentence, so he didn’t even dare try.

Once they had settled into their seats, Tom poured them each a healthy glass of Sauvignon Blanc as he went into greater detail than Harry could process about how the citrus of the wine would help bring out the flavors of both the feta and olives present in their Greek salad. Louis thanked him for the wine and salads set before them and Tom told them to enjoy before heading back into the kitchen. Harry immediately reached for his wine and drank about half the glass before remembering how much of a lightweight he was.

“You all right there, H?”

“Lou? What really happened with your dad?” he blurted out, convinced something more than a conversation about money had occurred. It had to have or else Harry wouldn’t have found himself sitting here, like this, with Louis.

“Getting right into it then, are we?” Louis set down his fork and folded his hands near his mouth, elbows bent on the table.

“I just...I feel like I’m missing something if I’m being honest. You’ve never kept anything from me and usually the first thing you do after you’ve processed is tell me about it. But this time you haven’t. And I’ve waited. I’ve tried to be patient and not push you because we both know how you can be. You left my best friend, came back as someone who asked me on a date.”

Louis bit his lip and squinted his eyes as if in thought. Harry had seen that face a few different times, but only when Louis was truly lost for words. “I tried to do what you told me to. I tried to make him listen to everything I’ve never told him,” Louis finally responded.

“But what does that mean, Lou? You never keep things from me and I feel like you aren’t telling me the whole story.”

Louis took a sip of wine and placed his hands on his lap, fidgeting with the cloth napkin draped across his thighs. “He wanted to talk but he really didn’t want to hear what I had to say. I almost gave up but then your voice came to me, telling me to make him listen. So I talked until he stopped and heard me.” 

“And what did you have to say?”

“The truth.”

Harry tried very hard to not be annoyed by Louis’ cagey, coy responses. He knew Louis needed to tell him in his own time and his own way, but the constant run around was infuriating.

“So what, then, is the truth?” Harry prompted.

Louis took another long drink of wine, looking up to Harry through his eyelashes. Harry didn’t dare call Louis’ bluff by looking away now. He was too enraptured by the equal parts fear and mischief. Harry tried to swallow but his mouth was suddenly dry. 

“The truth is,” Louis said, setting his glass back on the table. He looked directly at Harry, who still hadn’t broken eye contact. “The truth is I’m in love with you. That I didn't need to prove I deserved his love; that I no longer wanted it… That I had enough love from you and always have.” 

Harry swore he must have misheard. Perhaps he’d blacked out and made the whole night up. That seemed like a more logical option than what he’d just heard. 

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Harry finally blinked.

“I said I’m in love with you.” 

 

###  **< >+<> January, 2017 <>+<>**

Louis waited at the baggage claim, just like he and Harry had planned since Louis had finally told Harry he was ready for Harry to join him in the States. He had been out in L.A. for a little over a month without Harry and was practically itching to see him. 

The day after his mum’s funeral, Louis had been laying in Harry’s bed completely void of all emotions. The previous week had depleted him, leaving him numb. Harry was trying to talk to him but it felt like the rest of the world was outside and he was alone underwater. Everything seemed muted and slightly blurry and Louis just wanted it all to stop.

Through it all though, he felt Harry’s steady hand pressed to his back, rubbing in gentle circles up and down his spine, across his shoulders and occasionally in the dip of his back. Hours (minutes? lifetimes?) went by between them. Words that should have been easy to say weren’t and a heavy silence hung between them, neither sure how to make it dissipate.

“I feel like I’m never going to be happy again,” Louis quietly confessed to the dark that had fallen around them. 

Harry said nothing. Louis didn’t know if he even wanted Harry to respond, but for some reason the silence was deafening, maddening, and Louis couldn’t take it anymore. He bolted up from the bed and grabbed for his jumper draped over the corner chair.

“I need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay,” Harry said, sitting up gingerly. “Where are we going?”

Louis blinked at him incredulously. Harry, who of course had been affected nearly as much as Louis and his siblings had by Jay’s death, looked like a small child trying to act brave.

“You can’t come with me,” Louis snapped, clearly aggravated that Harry just wasn’t understanding what he was trying to say, or, trying not to say.

“What do you mean I can’t come with you? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know but I have to go. I can’t stay here. I can’t sleep in the town where she’s buried. I can’t drive down the roads she used to while I rode shotgun.” Louis felt the sting of tears. Apparently he wasn’t depleted of all emotions. The thought just made him more upset. “I can’t stay here and drown in fucking tears, H. I need it all to fucking stop and if I stay, it’ll never stop. I just want it all to stop.”

“I understand,” Harry said, sitting up.

“No, you don’t. You can’t possibly understand this. I can’t look at my sisters and brother without crying. I can’t be around your mum without crying. And I can’t fucking be around you right now because every time I look at you, I keep wanting you to have come up with a way to make this better and you haven’t and -”

“I’m trying,” Harry cut him off, his voice small and on the verge of breaking.

“There’s no point. You can’t fix this! You can’t bring her back. And you want to know the worst thing? This is your fault. You fucking conditioned me to be like this. My whole life you’ve fixed everything. You never let me get hurt and now I’m hurt in a way that you can’t fix and I’m mad at you, Harry. How fucked is that? I look at you and I-” Louis paused.

“You what?” Harry was blinking back tears now and Louis couldn’t stop. He needed it all to fucking stop but the stone had been thrown over the edge and there was no stopping the descent now.

“I want to hit you! I want to punch you and I want to find a time machine and go back to twenty years ago and kick you out of my bedroom instead of watching Brave Little fucking Toaster. I want to go back to then and never have let you in.” Louis was sobbing uncontrollably. He felt on the verge of a panic attack, his breath getting shorter and shorter, his lungs refusing to expand the way they were supposed to. He couldn’t stop the hurt and instead hurt the one person who had never caused him a shred of distress. That thought only made it worse. 

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, Harry. I swear on my mother’s grave!” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. It was like punching out what little air remained in his lungs hearing himself say those words, but it was too late. “You have no idea what that’s like because you still have a mum and I have nothing. I have no one.”

“You have me,” Harry said, tears fully streaming down his face. Louis hated himself for making Harry cry. He hated himself for so many things where Harry was concerned.

“That’s the problem. I don’t have you!”

“What are you talking about, Louis? You do, too! I’m right here. I’ve always been right here. In case you hadn’t realized, I’ve always been here despite however hard you try and push me away. You want to hit me? Fine. Punch me. Knock me out for all I care. Hit me until every one of my bones is broken if that will make you feel better. But time machines don’t exist and we both know you’re a fucking liar if you’d take back that first night after your dad left.” He voice was broken but convicted.

Louis knew he was right. Harry was always right. It infuriated Louis to know that even now, even when his whole life had gone upside down, Harry was still right side up.

“You always give me so much shit for being vulnerable but I don’t care,” Harry continued, voice growing in volume despite the tears. “Push me away. I’ll come back. Run away and I’ll run after you. You can’t get rid of me the way you just cast everyone else off and if you haven’t figured that out yet, well that’s on you.”

Louis watched Harry’s chest rise and fall as he tried to control his breathing after yelling, wiping away tears with the palm of his hand. 

“I need to go.”

“Then go, Lou. Wherever in the world you want. Go. But let me come, too.”

Louis lost all fight left in him.

“I can’t stay here.”

“I know.”

“It’s just that… This place is my whole past.”

“So where do you want to go?”

“Neptune?”

“Sorry, darling. We’re still a few years off from being able to live there. Anywhere else?”

“The other side of the world?”

“I think that would put us in the middle of the Pacific. I don’t know how either of us would fare on a remote island after a few hours. The solitude would eat us alive, I think.”

“Then America. The west coast. Los Angeles. That’s got to be far enough that it kind of counts as the opposite side.”

“For how long?” Harry asked. 

“Forever, maybe?” Louis spoke quietly after serious contemplation. This place would never be home to him again. Not without his mum there, alive. It  _ was _ home because she was here and home is wherever the person who loves you most is. That’s what she had always told him.

“You want to move to Los Angeles. For forever?”

“I can’t be here. It’s either bad memories of my dad or heartache because of my mom.”

“And what about your sisters and brother?” 

“I’ll visit. And wherever I live, I’ll make sure there is enough room for them all.”

“I’ve always wanted to live in the States. Might as well be in Los Angeles.”

“You’d really come with me?” Louis mostly thought Harry was bluffing to diffuse the tension.

“I’d have gone to Neptune if that’s really where you’d have chosen. I remember us wanting to be astronauts when we were little.” 

Louis threw himself onto Harry, who just fell back onto the bed and laid there while Louis cried for hours (and hours). He wanted to say sorry for being upset at Harry. He wanted to stop crying and gather his wits about him and go to his home across the street and take care of his siblings. He wanted to do so many things, but he realized he never wanted to let go of Harry long enough to do any of it. 

It frightened him how much he didn’t want to let go. 

Shortly before his mother had passed, she called him into her room to have one last heart to heart chat. She told him he would need to be brave for Lottie, watchful for Fizzy, strong for Daisy and Phoebe, and caring for Doris and Ernst. He promised he would.

“And as for Harry,” Jay had said faintly, feeling the strain the conversation had taken on her.

“Harry will be fine mum. He has Anne.”

“So will you, my darling.”

“Then what am I supposed to do for Harry?”

“Let him love you.”

“But mum he doesn’t even -” Louis began to protest but Jay held her hand up to silence him.

“He does, Boo. He thinks the sun rises and sets with you. Harry loves you, and I if suspect that if you’re honest, you love him, too.”

Louis sat there, trying to take it all in. He tried to trace every line on her face,  commit to memory the rhythm of her breathing. He tried to memorize the way her hand looked in his, the weight of it all. He tried to remember the exact shade of brown her eyes were and how they reflected the light around them.

He tried to remember everything about the moment he knew he not only  _ loved _ Harry, but was absolutely  _ in love _ with him. Harry, who was just outside Jay’s bedroom door waiting for Louis, knowing he would need some support after seeing his mum so frail. Harry, who had made every heartbreak a little bit easier just by being there, waiting.

He was in love with his best friend and his mum was dying and life wasn’t fair and there was nothing he could do but to let it all happen. He held his mum’s hand until she drifted off to sleep, morphine coursing through her veins in ways that Louis wished he could feel.

He also realized right then and there that he could never truly be with Harry. He would need to draw lines and refuse to let his feelings get in the way of their friendship. Harry didn’t need to always come behind and continuously fix Louis’ problems. Harry deserved someone wonderful and unbroken, whole and loveable. Someone who could love him the way Louis just couldn’t. 

Being held in Harry’s arms was selfish, he knew. But if the day after his mother was laid to rest wasn’t a time to be selfish, when was? So he stayed until he was ready to move. The next evening, he had booked a one-way flight away from England, assuring Harry that once he was settled with a storefront and a place for them to live, Harry could join him.

He wanted to make sure that Harry had time to reconsider his offer to move to L.A., convinced he would change his mind when he realized that in terms of distance from home, Los Angeles might as well have actually been Neptune. He gave Harry every chance in the world to give up on him.

But of course, Harry never did.

True to his word, once Louis had rented a modest but wonderfully located storefront in Beverly Hills and found a decently priced home In Marina del Rey overlooking the ocean, Louis bought Harry a first class ticket to join him. Days away became minutes away, and minutes felt like hours standing nervously at baggage claim, still wondering if he should have brought Harry flowers. 

Louis had also been hoping some distance, literal and otherwise, might help wane his feelings so they could start out in L.A. on even, platonic, friendship-only sentiments. This was a new life for Harry as much as it was for Louis and Louis wanted to give Harry every chance in the world to find his own happiness outside of cleaning up Louis’ mess of a life. 

Louis forgot all of that keep-the-distance nonsense when he saw chestnut curls bouncing towards him at a jog. Louis’ breath got caught somewhere between his lungs and lips as he took in the man barreling toward him. Had Harry always been that stunning? How had he forgotten in a few short weeks? Why did he ever want to be where Harry wasn’t? Before he could answer any of his own questions, Harry came crashing into him, arms wide and smile wider.

They stood there for an eternity (minutes?) and Louis just let himself be held. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself; the first thing he did when seeing Harry was break his own rule of keeping him at arm’s length. Louis knew he never stood a chance of achieving any goal if it involved staying away from Harry. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Louis said for no other reason than to break the silence.

“I missed you,” Harry whispered.

“I missed you, too. So fucking much.”

“You wouldn’t have had to miss me this much if you’d have just let me come with you.”

“Harry, I -”

“I know, Boo. You had to do this on your own.”

Louis was so thankful he didn’t need to use words to tell Harry what he already knew.

“I like when you call me that. Reminds me of…” Louis trailed off. He couldn’t finish the sentence, but they both knew the ending. Harry just grabbed Louis and hugged him again, somehow tighter and longer than before. Louis would never stop missing her and Harry would never make him feel bad for that. 

“I miss her, too. She’d be so proud of you and your shop, though. I am, too, you know. I’m chomping at the bit to see it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Louis picked up Harry’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. He was surprised for how little appeared to be in the bag. “Seems awfully light for a cross continental move.” 

“Got everything I need right here,” Harry said as he slug his arm around Louis. “Besides. I happen to know a guy who designs clothes for a living. I’m sure I could pull a few strings to get him to make me something if I need.”

Louis could swear his heartbeat was audible outside his body at Harry’s touch. “Sounds like a good friend, this clothes-making guy you know.”

“A great friend. The best, actually.”

 

###  **< >+<> April, 2019 <>+<>**

“Harry? You’re giving me a complex here. I said, I’m in love with you. Say something, please? Anything?”

Everything froze for several moments (eons?) for Harry. Louis said he was in love with him. He did hear those words, right? He played back the last thirty seconds in his mind as best he could. Louis said ‘I’m in love with you,’ and instead of jumping up and hopping into Louis’ lap and confessing he, too, was in love with Louis, Harry just picked up his glass and polished off the remainder of his wine. His mouth had gone bone dry and he couldn’t have uttered a word had he wanted to. Not that he didn’t want to. He just forgot how making words into sentences worked. He was glad no one asked him his name in that moment because he surely had forgotten that, too.

“Fuck,” Louis muttered and turned away from him. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

“How...When…” Harry floundered, trying desperately to make his mouth and brain and heart all communicate. He knew he had less than four seconds to get something out before Louis bolted for the door. “I didn’t know,” he finally managed. 

“What do you mean you didn’t know? How could you not? I asked you on a date for fuck’s sake. You said so yourself, you thought this was a date. Didn’t that kind of indicate I had feelings for you?”

“You asked me to dinner and then told me it was a date. You more tricked me into a date than asking me on one.” It came out much harsher than Harry had intended. But it was true. Being ambiguous never worked well when trying to communicate to Harry. Louis, more than anyone, should have known that. 

“Would it have changed your answer?” Louis asked, his voice quiet and unsure.

“No. No, of course not. You could have asked me to Neptune and I would have said yes.”

“But this isn’t Neptune. This isn’t even really a place. This is a feeling and I don’t want you to agree to a feeling just because I’m a colossal fuckwit and potentially ruined our friendship.”

“I understand what you’re saying I’m just not -”

“I get the point, Harry,” Louis cut him off. “I said I’m in love with you and you chugged a glass of wine. Message received loud and clear. I don’t need to hear an actual rejection, too. Please, let’s just finish dinner and get out of here. We never have to talk about this again.”

“Or,” Harry said, leaning forward and reaching out for Louis’ hand. Louis was still refusing to look at Harry, his face flushed from the neck up. “Louis, look at me. Please?” 

After a few beats of silence, Louis begrudgingly looked back to meet Harry’s eyes. Louis’ beauty overwhelmed Harry and he felt himself blush. Louis had grown into himself in ways Harry hadn’t realized until then. It wasn’t exactly a physical thing. It was more a psychological change, or maybe it was just Harry’s perception. Louis seemed more grounded, mature, balanced. Even when he was so utterly wrong and more vulnerable than he had ever let Harry see before, Louis was breathtakingly beautiful.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Louis asked quietly.

“Will you hold my hand if I tell you?”

“I can’t, H. Please don’t make this worse for me.”

“But that’s just it, Boo. I’m not trying to make this worse for you.”

“Y-You’re not?” he stuttered.

“You want to know what I was thinking just now?”

Louis stayed silent.

“I was thinking about how absolutely and unequivocally beautiful you are. How stunning you are in this, or any, light, and how much you don’t have a clue how much I’m in love with you, too.”

“You’re -”

Before Louis could finish, Tom came back into the dining room only to find their salads barely touched.

“We’re going to need a moment, Tom,” Harry said without looking away from Louis. A humpback whale could have swam up to the table and started tap dancing and it wouldn’t have been enough to tear his eyes away from the man sitting across from him. Tom slowly and quietly backed away, out of Harry’s sight line. “You were saying, Lou?”

It was finally Louis’ turn to fish-mouth back at Harry. He couldn’t help but feel a bit smug that he’d left the incomparable Louis Tomlinson speechless.

“You’re...in love...with me...too?” Louis stammered and struggled to get the words out. Harry couldn’t be anything but endeared.

“I am.”

“Then why did you -” 

“I didn't. You assumed. What I was going to say before I was rudely interrupted was, I’m not sure how to tell you I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“Years?”

“Pretty much for as long as I can remember, though in full disclosure I only realized it myself like five or six years ago.”

“Five or six years? Christ, Harry! You never let on.”

“Neither did you! How long have you known?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Of course know. Surely you must at least have an idea of when you first started to have feelings for me?”

“I swear Harry, I don’t know. My mum. She...when she was dying, she told me I needed to stop fighting the notion I was in love with you and I...I didn’t even realize I was.”

“You didn’t realize you were fighting the notion or you didn’t realize you had feelings for me, too?”

“Both?”

Harry swallowed thickly, trying to decipher what Louis had just told him. Jay had been the one to make Louis realize in the same way Anne had done for Harry. He wondered if their mums had been in on it together this whole time, and if they had, why hadn’t they done more to help the boys along? Harry knew his mum and knew that if it were solely up to her, she would have thrown them a surprise wedding years ago and have them figure it out after they said their I Do’s. Jay must have had a part in not getting too involved, probably hoping Louis would figure it out for himself sooner rather than later. She was always good like that, letting Louis have his own time to fully understand his emotions.

“That was a year and a half ago and you’re just telling me?” Harry couldn’t believe that he’d known and not said anything for so long. 

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. Mum knew me. Better than you, better than I knew myself. I wasn’t ready to stop fighting your love yet.”

“So why now, Boo?” 

“I don’t know.” Louis looked away again, the pink of his cheeks glowing again.

“Sure you do. What happened when you went to see your dad?”

“After he talked to me about the money, I’d told him I’d pay whatever the government needed and I’d pay for a funeral but,” Louis paused.

“But what?” Harry couldn’t for the life of him understand what the money had to do with realizing his feelings, but Harry let him process in his own way. Louis always did take the long way around to get to where he was going, and Harry supposed this was no different. 

“I told him I didn’t want to prolong the suffering.”

“So you’re not paying for the hospice treatments?” Harry asked. He’d had a feeling that things would play out that way. 

“Nope.”

“And you’re okay with that?” 

“I told you, I’m ready. Not that I want him dead. But I’m ready to not care and hurt anymore. I’m ready for him to be at peace, finally. I’m ready to move on.”

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from Louis. He was calm and collected with not a shred of doubt cast over his face. Maybe Louis really was okay with it all. 

“How did he take it?”

“The usual. Told me I was selfish, that I was going to hell.”

“Ah yes, the ever present threat of hell.”

“I told him I would see him there and, Harry, I’m not even shitting you, he looked me in the eyes and told me that the layer of hell for the queers was even beyond his kind of hell. I said hallelujah, because then at least in death I’d finally be free of him.”

“Lou…” Harry reached out his hand again, this time Louis leaned forward and took it in his, interlocking their fingers.

“He told me,” Louis’ voice quivered ever so slightly before he cleared his throat and continued. “He told me that I was going to die alone, just like him. He said he and I were cut from the same cloth and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

A tear rolled down Harry’s cheek before he even realized he was crying. He tried to quelch the anger bubbling up inside of him. He had made it his mission to not actively hate anyone in his life, but he hated Troy. He hated every single thing about him and the hurt he had caused Louis his whole life.

“That’s not true. Please tell me you know that’s not true. You might share his blood and DNA but that’s where it ends, Louis. He’s just trying to fuck with your head one last time. You don’t even share his name. There is a reason for that. You understood at such a young age that Troy was not what a father should be and you took Mark’s name instead.”

Louis squeezed Harry’s hand in acknowledgement.

“You made something of yourself in a way he never could. Be proud. He can’t take that away from you. You have to believe you fell so fucking far from that tree.”

“I think I know that now. But it took me a while to get here. And that’s why I fought my feelings for so long. I can’t always ask you to fix me.”

“You’ve never had to ask, Louis. And for the rest of my life, I’ll never stop trying to make things better for you.”

“You already do. Just being you and being here with me… You’re enough for me. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here with me now.”

“Here at Tom’s?”

Harry laughed at Louis’ innocence. Times like these he truly realized just how guarded Louis was, mostly because he had to be. “No. I mean, here. In love. Like how I’ve pictured it; and now I don’t have to keep imagining what it would be like to tell you you’re all I want.”

“So you really do love me?”

“More than anything in the world. I loved you before I knew what love was. I want to have a family with you, Louis. I want to have lots and lots of babies and raise them with you and give you the chance to be the man you’re so close to being. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You don’t have to keep fighting.”

“I’m sorry I’m so fucking broken, Harry.”

“Oh, darling. You’re not broken. Far from it. And even if you were, or are, or will be, I’ll do everything in my power to collect you back up, piece by piece.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t deserve me? What are you talking about? Don’t deserve me? You deserve the world. I’m so sorry he made you feel unworthy of love. But you are. You are worthy of every single ounce of love there is to give you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“And if I forget sometimes?” Louis asked. Another flash of the vulnerable child Harry used to know came and went across Louis’ face. Harry knew he was trying so hard to be brave.

“Then I’ll remind you. I don’t care if I have to spend every breath from now to eternity telling you that you are worthy of love, I’ll do it. I’ll tell you ten thousand times a day that you are not him, that you are not where you come from. I’ll remind you of how good you are and how much you deserve good things. I’ll love you until you remember.”

“You promise?”

Harry let go of Louis’ hand and wordlessly made his way to the other side of the table. He pulled Louis’ chair back and reached out for Louis to stand up. They were face to face, hand in hand. Harry blinked back the tears of joy forming at the corners of his eyes. His whole world was right in front of him. He leaned down ever so slightly and paused, lips mere breaths apart.

“I promise,” he whispered, finally closing the distance between them. He could feel Louis’ racing pulse slow down as they kissed, shy and unsure at first - noses bumping and breaths catching. It took no time at all (ages?) for their bodies to take control and work together, the way they were always destined to. Tongues traced teeth and teeth bit lips and two breaths fell in time to one steady rhythm. 

“Hey Lou?” Harry pulled away first, still only inches from Louis. His smile threatened to split his whole face wide open. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do. And... I love you, too. You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine.”

“Yours. I like the way that sounds. For forever?”

Hundreds (thousands? billions?) of times Louis had asked him this exact question. Every single time Harry answered the same way and always would.

“For always.”

 

###  **< >+<> September, 2021 <>+<>**

“Good evening everyone!” Louis stepped out to the middle of the runway. The lights were blinding, but still he found Harry front and center, same as where he’d sat at every single one of Louis’ shows since the very first in Uni. He exchanged a small, private smile with his husband while cameras flashed around him. 

“Right, so. This collection is perhaps the most meaningful work of my life to date. When my father-” Louis got choked up and took a moment to compose himself. Harry gave him a small nod and it was enough for Louis to continue on. 

“When my father passed away a few years ago, I realized a few things. First, I realized that you can’t make someone want you. I remember being little and begging him to stay. Begging him to take me with him, to not leave me, but he left anyway. My whole life I chased after him. After his approval. The truth is, I never got it. Even in his dying, he never accepted me for who I was, only wanting certain things from me once I had stopped trying to please him and had made something of myself in spite of him. When I went to visit him one last time, it became clear to me that he expected me to earn his love and for most of my life, I couldn’t provide him with what he thought he needed so he deemed me worthless. Instead of using the last of his time on earth with me to make amends, he chose to tell me that despite everything I had done for myself, I was going to end up alone. He tried his best to break me,” Louis paused to wipe away a tear. He hadn’t planned on being this candid, but seeing Harry sitting there, he couldn’t help but be anything other than completely honest.

“I left him thinking that maybe that was true. Maybe I didn’t deserve love. Maybe I was too broken for anyone to fix. And then… I came home. Home is a funny word to me, because truly, what is home? Where is home? And I realized that home was no longer a place for me. Home was a person. My person. My best friend. So I came home, still broken and bruised but determined to try and let love lead me. And it did. Love lead me directly into the arms of the best man I have ever known.”

The audience’s applause was almost deafening and still, he heard Harry’s whistle through the crowd. Louis allowed himself this moment - this cheer - to fill the whole of the space before continuing.

“My whole life, Harry-” he gestured down to Harry who was smiling with his nose scrunched and gave a wave to the crowd. “For my whole life, Harry has been there. We grew up across the street from each other and have been best friends for as long as I can remember. He’s been there, picking up the pieces that I fell into every single time I was broken down by my father, this time no different. Except it was. Because after a moment of weakness, or strength, or something in between, I told Harry that I loved him. Not just loved him. But that I was in love with him.”

The audience again cheered and Louis bit his lip in delight. Once he announced he was taking a small break from Street-wear, there wasn’t a day that went by where someone wasn’t trying to get information on his secret project. When he announced his new collection was ready for show, he was invited back to London Fashion Week. He knew debuting the new line here would be a full circle moment. No one was prepared for what was coming and Louis reveled in the last few moments where it was still just a small secret.

“Good news for everyone, it turns out he happened - happens - to be in love with me, too. As I’m sure you all know, we got married not too long ago and tonight, I am so excited to announce that this collection won’t be the only thing arriving just in time for spring.”

There was a beat of silence before the entire room exploded into even louder cheers.

“I think I speak for Harry as well as myself when I say we cannot wait for our baby to join our family. Every single day, I look at my husband and I see so much more than a man. I see love. I see the person who has filled in the holes burned in me since six years old. I see patience. He has restored my faith that a man can be kind. He takes care of me. He loves me and he will never leave her like my father left me.”

Louis took a deep breath to compose himself yet again. Emotions and adrenaline and nerves had certainly gotten the best of him.

“He is everything a man should be. So I dedicate this show to him. And to our baby girl, whoever she will be. I know she is already loved more than I ever knew possible because Harry has taught me what it means for a father to be great.”

Louis looked down at Harry, wiping away his own tears. 

“This collection is called Piece x Piece. This is for you. Enjoy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you've stuck through to the end. I hope I did the subject justice.
> 
> [If you enjoyed reading, please consider reblogging this fic post.](https://always-aqua.tumblr.com/post/184341222187/far-from-the-tree-285k-by-alwaysaqua-on-ao3)


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